


Prevailing Winds

by fawatson



Category: Kind Are Her Answers - Mary Renault, Purposes of Love - Mary Renault, The Charioteer - Mary Renault, The Friendly Young Ladies - Mary Renault
Genre: Crossover, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec Deacon's life following the end of <i>The Charioteer</i>; Nurse [Julia] Valentine and Colonna Kimball's life together during WWII.</p><p>Part One includes Chapters 1- 11 and takes place during 1942.<br/>Part Two includes Chapters 12 - 15 and takes place in 1943</p><p>NB:  This work is not complete.  It currently has 15 chapters.  More are planned and will be added when written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Are Cordially Invited...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec Deacon and [Julia] Valentine receive an invitation which raises old memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally Posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 15/04/2008  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own these characters and make no profit from them  
>  **Acknowledgements:** Thank you to ‘mysid’ for posing the question about blackmail as a part of the 'In Their Own Words' character interviews on maryrenaultfics (which started me thinking); thank you to ‘my cnnr’ for the term ‘selective realities’ (which I have borrowed); thank you to ‘greerwatson’ for correcting my grammar, and suggesting I needed to look for misplaced modifiers (hopefully I found them all!).

The post brought with it the unwelcome invitation. He spotted it on the mat as he opened the front door after a long night shift and bent to pick up the envelopes as he came into the hall. He grunted slightly as he straightened, flexing the back of his neck, arching the small of his back and rubbing his shoulders. He needed a long soak in the bath; that would ease the soreness. Two were for Julia and he put them on the hallway credenza to the left of the door. One was for him. Distinctive writing in black ink adorned the front of the letter. He put it to one side also. After his bath would be soon enough, after the bath and after some sleep. 

Bright sunshine streamed through the open window as he drew the water. He stripped, letting his soiled clothes rest where they dropped and stood bare in front of the long mirror, inspecting himself. Hazel eyes, in a face surrounded by straight dark brown hair badly in need of a cut, stared back at him. Tired eyes; shadowed eyes - too tired. He stifled a yawn. Lord but he needed sleep – a good long rest uninterrupted by being on call. At least the air raids seemed to have stopped; there was still an occasional warning but mostly they were false alarms. And the bath would help put him out. He tipped some of Julia’s lavender bath salts into the water before he settled himself into the spacious Victorian tub. Mustn’t go to sleep now; it would be all too easy in the tub. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scented steam and gave a little moan in relaxed satisfaction. Nothing quite like a good bath. 

Outside Julia stumbled slightly as she stood up, off balance. She sighed as she tried to stretch the kinks out of her back. She'd really spent too much time on her knees, weeding. Tipping her head to one side while massaging her shoulders, she noticed the open bathroom window. Alec was back. That meant she needed to get ready for the hospital. She inspected her handiwork; neat rows of cabbages, carrots and potatoes stared back at her. In one corner were a few rose bushes left from her grandmother’s pristine cottage garden. The rest was dedicated to producing food for the kitchen. She had little time for it really but it made all the difference. Oh she was stiff. A bath would be nice but no chance of that now. 

She made her way through the back door and into the tiny cottage kitchen. Standing at the sink cleaning she could look out, across the back garden gate to the fields beyond. She sighed and turned her head downwards, concentrating with the nail brush. She’d worn gloves but somehow the soil always managed to get underneath. Julia scrubbed hard at her grubby fingernails, kept short and unadorned as befitted her vocation. Finishing quickly she climbed the stairs to her small front bedroom where she changed into uniform. Her youth fell away from her and the mask of professional authority took over as she donned her matron’s cap and badges. There now... she smoothed her skirt over her hips and flicked a speck of lint off her shoulder. She looked respectable. 

Alec smiled to himself as he heard the small noises of Julia’s movements. She would be gone soon and the house would be quiet for him to sleep. He smoothed soap over his chest and down his legs, then bent his knees up to scrub lightly at his toes with the loofah. A gentle knock on the bathroom door interrupted his musings.

“Alec, has it come yet?”

“Yes, I think so; I haven’t opened it though. I’ve put it on the entrance table. We can talk this evening after you’re done at hospital.”

“Won’t you be going on shift then?”

“No I have the night off, emergencies willing.”

“Fair enough.”

There was a brief pause, and then Julia’s voice came again: 

“Alec, remember to check on Sherry this afternoon.” 

Then she was gone. He heard her sensible shoes descending, a brief pause in the entrance hall, and then the front door opened and closed. If he listened carefully he imagined he would hear her steps down the path and out through the front gate. But he wasn’t minding on Julia any longer. His hands retraced his skin, checking over blemishes, old and new. His fingers paused at a marked dent on his hip, stroking it back and forth, round and round, as if he could smooth out the imperfection the way one could knead out lumps in pastry. A small scar, but one going deep. It didn't trouble him much, but had still been enough to keep him out of the military. His body, in a sense, was now a permanent memorial of life with Sandy - this flesh Sandy had loved so well. He looked along his torso again as he lay supine, the water still warm and inviting. Aec frowned, then heaved himself out of the bath, quickly drying. His small back bedroom was dark and inviting; Julia must have pulled the curtains for him before she left. He sank into the soft bed, curled up against a pillow and went to sleep. 

He woke to darkness. The last streaks of sunset greeted him as he pulled open the blackout curtains. Briefly he enjoyed the view before closing them again and turning on the light. As usual working nights left him feeling slightly muzzy and depressed. Alec pulled on his robe, a sumptuous relic from a bygone era – long before the days of utility clothes and rationing. After he’d been bombed out Julia had found it for him in the attic. It was a beautiful forest green velvet, cut full and long, with two large ornate buttons, a tie belt with silk tassels, and quilted silk collar and lapels. It brought out the green in his eyes and he felt like an Egyptian Pasha whenever he wore it. He traipsed downstairs in search of tea.

After putting on the kettle to boil and getting out the teapot, Alec carefully peered round the door to the closet at the bottom of the stairs. Sherry stretched her head back, making a trilling noise as she looked at him. She was the picture of contented laziness, sprawled on her back amidst the nest she had made from old teacloths. Her kittens nestled in a neat row beside her, asleep, their little tummies distended with milk, their short tails pointing stiffly like arrows. Her long silky chocolate brown fur had that permanently rumpled look. ‘Bedroom fur’ Alec had termed it, like someone whose hair was mussed after making love. She detached herself from her brood and came out from the closet to rub herself affectionately against his legs, before leading the way to the kitchen. 

Sherry had been made homeless, possibly because of an air raid, and Julia had found her bedraggled and forlorn in a rainstorm one day on the way home from hospital. She was exotically lovely. Her long white whiskers and eyebrows provided startling definition to a small dark face with huge eyes; her tail was preposterously fluffy. Julia had named her Scherezade, because the little cat had survived against the odds, but the name had quickly been shortened. Only after bringing her home had it been realised she was pregnant. Her kittens were five weeks old now, and starting to explore further as she began to wean them. She set up a piteous mewing as he looked out some scraps for her; one would think she hadn’t eaten in a week. Milk was rationed, although he reminded himself she was a nursing queen and so needed more sustenance. He put down a dish of milk for her as well. 

He sat at the kitchen table sipping black tea and opened the letter from Ralph. It was all he had wanted - expected really – warm and friendly, full of amusing anecdotes and news, full of love for Laurie, full of Patch’s latest mischief, full of contentment. Laurie had done well by Ralph in the end. He had worried at first, especially when Ralph had been at such low ebb. No need to worry now. Yes that was exactly what he had needed. He reread the letter, gleaning all he could from it, and in the end, just enjoying the companionship and acceptance that exuded from Ralph’s script. 

Alec felt reluctant to break the moment. It was strange. Here he had an evening off; he could make a few phone calls. Someone would be sure to have a party. He didn’t move however. He hadn’t really been in a party mood for a while. He wasn’t conscious of his hand moving down, slipping underneath the robe to finger the scar on his hip as his thoughts floated back. Those last months with Sandy had been so difficult, their relationship disintegrating under the pressures of studying for finals. It had slipped through their fingers all the faster the more they tried to hold onto it. The end had been inevitable really, although he still struggled to accept. That final argument... Sandy storming out in the midst of an air raid... going after him... Alec realised what his hand was doing and clenched his fist to stop it. He owed his life to Sandy. They would both have died in a direct hit on the house. As it was, his own injury had healed over. A lot of people had died in air raids. Sandy was just one more. No doubt they would count them all up after the end of the war, and talk knowledgeably and pompously about the terrible loss of life and property. People did that sort of thing. 

Sherry jumped up on his lap and rubbed her head against his chest. Absently he stroked her ears and scratched under her china. There was no point in dwelling on the past. He turned again to Ralph’s letter. He heard the front door bang shut. Julia was home; time to look out something for a meal while she had her bath. Kidneys, mash and runner beans tonight. He looked out the fry pan from its hiding place in the very back of the cupboard and after scrubbing the potatoes, put them on to boil in a saucepan. Sandy would have frenched the beans but Alec didn’t bother – too fiddly. 

He looked up when Julia came into the kitchen. She had on her thick grey robe over flannel pyjamas, unflattering but warm and comfortable. Her hair, damp with sweat and steam, was pinned in a messy topknot. 

“Hard shift?” he asked. Her face looked pinched; even relaxing in the bath hadn’t softened the lines drawn in her forehead. 

“Yes” she said, sitting quietly at the table, but a solitary tear trickled down from the corner of one eye. 

“Come on – give.”

“The burn case died today.” 

“Oh” There was a long pause before Alec offered again, “it was only a matter of when.” He knew that made no difference. Normally one didn’t get attached to any patient but despite the need for professional distance the whole hospital had rooted for this young man. He’d been horribly burned when his plane crashed, yet kept holding on somehow despite the relentless pain. His girlfriend faithfully visited each day, unwilling to accept the inevitable. Some cases just got to you. They were ‘special’, even if it broke all the rules.

“Come here” he said, pulling her towards him as he spoke. His hands were firm but gentle as he searched through her hair for pins, pulling them out so her thick wavy black hair streamed down over her back. “Wait just a minute” Alec said, as he left the room. He quickly returned with towels, shampoo and her hairbrush, purloined from the dresser in her bedroom. He pushed her toward the sink, hugging her gently while he prepared the water and tested it for temperature, before bending her head down to wash her hair. Alec hummed as he worked, his fingers gentle as they massaged the soap into her scalp. Deftly he rinsed, wrung the water from her hair and caught it up in a turban made from an old towel. Then leading her into the sitting room he sat Julia on a cushion before the fireplace and settled himself in the wing chair behind her. Another towel was placed to protect her shoulders before he unwound the turban and began to stroke the brush through her hair in nice long even movements. 

“Better now?” he asked.

“Lovely. If you can’t find work as a doctor after the war, you should be a hairdresser” she replied. 

He laughed, put the brush to one side and began running his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and the back of her neck, releasing the last of her tension. 

“Tell the truth! Good?”

“Yes” Julia said, stretching and purring like her cat. “How do you always know just what I need?” She threw him a mischievous smile over her shoulder. “You’ll make some girl very happy some day.” She laughed as he growled and wagged a chiding finger at her, picking up the hairbrush again to brandish in mock threat. 

“You take that back!” 

Giggling, Julia grabbed the cleaning brush from the fireplace as her weapon and twisted round to do battle. 

They sparred briefly before collapsing in a laughing heap. Julia propped herself against Alec’s side and pulled her hanky from her pocket to blow her nose. 

She sniffed deeply. “What’s that smell?” 

“Hell, I forgot the potatoes.” Alec made a leap for the kitchen and the ruined meal. Sherry perched on the table feasting on kidney; the potatoes were a blackened mess. 

Julia laughed, leaning against the door, watching Alec’s antics as he chased the cat, threatening vengeance until she disappeared down the corridor. 

“Well there are lots more potatoes in the garden,” Alec said, but neither of them fancied getting them in the dark. “Looks like sausages again tonight.” At her grimace he sighed. “I’ll go and get us fish and chips. You make me a drink and I’ll be back in a moment.” 

Julia turned to the tiny pantry with its precious stock of gin. Her grandmother’s beautiful Venetian crystal would provide a special touch. She tipped the last of the kidney into a dish for Sherry. She’d be back soon, just in case, never one to miss an opportunity. 

Julia lit a fire in the sitting room grate, and looked for the mail that Alec had left for her. She curled up in the wing chair, tucking her feet beneath her as she opened her first envelope. It was from Colonna, telling all about her new posting. She sounded giddy and excited as a child opening presents on Christmas morning. Irrepressible Colonna – the only person Julia knew for whom the war had simply brought more opportunities for parties and fun. Somehow she passed unscathed through everything, oblivious to the uncertainty surrounding her, unmoved by the fragility of life. Even day-to-day trials such as rationing, made-over clothes and the overcrowded living conditions that wore out everyone else, didn’t seem to touch her exuberance. In passing Colonna mentioned hearing about the death of a mutual acquaintance and wrote dismissively: “she wouldn’t have wanted to live a cripple; better to make a quick end than linger on in some half-life.” No, never any half-lives for Colonna, Julia thought, reading on. Instead, she was full of her latest infatuation: “a raving beauty with long red hair.” Julia felt old just reading about it. Not for Colonna the compromises everyone else had accepted. 

Turning to the second envelope, her hands appreciated the texture of the fine parchment paper. She turned it over; the envelope was embossed with the return address. Definitely from Alec’s mother. Familiar formal phrases greeted her: Mrs Margaret Deacon cordially invites you to the wedding of her daughter.... It was addressed to them both. 

The front door closed with a bang as Alec came into the room. 

“I’ll get the vinegar” Julia said, getting up quickly, stuffing the invitation down the side of the chair. An inviting aroma wafted about Alec as he sat down on the footstool and began opening the paper wrapping, setting the food out on the low coffee table. For a time, nothing was heard while they savoured the crisply battered fish and chips. 

“Manna from heaven” Alec said. 

“Definitely beats kidney” Julia agreed. “We should give Sherry a reward for this.” They saluted one another with their drinks, the glasses slightly greasy now from the residue on their fingers. 

“So when is she getting married?” Alec asked. 

“Three weeks” Julia replied, licking her fingers clean before retrieving the invitation and holding it out for Alec to see. 

“No, no” he said, shaking his head “that’s for you.”

“It’s addressed to us both.”

“As a couple, I imagine.” The silence was telling. 

“Is the other from Colonna?” Alec asked. When she nodded, he added: “What is that mad scamp up to these days?”

She laughed. “Same as always, someone who is ‘absolutely divine in uniform’ this time.”

“How does she manage it!”

Julia smiled but her voice took on a more serious note “It is, of course, easier for women. Nice girls are expected to room together after all. No-one questions it. And nice girls don’t say yes till they’re married....” Her voice trailed off. 

“I hate that sort of compromise.” Alec’s tone of voice had turned suddenly quite vicious. “No-one should have to give in to that kind of thing.”

Julia’s voice was quiet but held no hesitation despite this. It was a well-worn conversation between them. “Not everyone can afford to be the radical, Alec. You can’t condemn people for making different choices from yours.”

“No, but I don’t have to accept them.” 

“You’re not coming to the wedding are you?” she remarked quietly, more statement than question. 

“Can you tell me I would have got that invitation if I were still living with Sandy?”

“Actually, you might”, she replied with wry humour “she never can quite remember Sandy wasn’t a woman.”

“Ha! That sounds just like her!” was the reply. 

“Just look at it, Alec” Julia said, once again holding out the envelope to him “Look at that notepaper. She barely recognises there’s a war on. It’s no wonder she conveniently forgets what she never wanted to be told in the first place.”

“And if I came with you, she’d just be able to hide all the more, reassured because you and I were together.” 

“Oh you don’t have to go to the wedding for _that_ ,” said Julia. “We’re sharing a house – _of course_ we’re together!”

Alec gave an abrupt snort of laughter. “So you’re going then?”

“I think I must,” Julia said. 

“Don’t say ‘must’” Alec said, a hint of insistence in his voice. “Go if you want to, but don’t because you feel you ought.”

Julia looked straight at him. “It’s been a long time since I last saw home, Alec. I miss your mother; she was so good to me when Mum was dying. Without her I would have had no place to stay in the school holidays. I want to see all our old friends. I want to see my brother and your sister get married. I want to toast them long life and happiness. I want to be named godmother when their children are born.” 

“God, you’re looking ahead aren’t you”, he said, shaking his head as he turned away from her to poke at the fire, releasing a shower of sparks. 

“Don’t you ever look to the future, Alec?” 

He turned back around, his eyes probing. Julia’s head was slightly bowed so he couldn’t see her face easily. They had that easy familiarity of people who had practically been raised together as children and who had remained close friends as adults, but this was a side of her he could not remember seeing before. Disconcerted he turned back to the fire, tending it closely to mask his discomfort. 

Surreptitiously Julia watched the tense muscles of his back. She had been a silent witness to past arguments. She remembered Uncle Thomas’ voice thundering through the study door about family and tradition and heritage, what Alec owed to his name, and the rank ingratitude of children. As the divide became a yawning chasm, Aunt Margaret had appealed to an old friend of the family, but he’d been unable to foster understanding between them. Eventually completely exasperated, he’d declared that Alec could raise a potato to the level of a principle and Thomas wasn’t much better. Both had been totally unwilling to compromise, Alec from the idealism of youth, his father armoured in rigid and exacting beliefs of right and wrong. In the end Alec had left for an obscure medical school, instead of Cambridge, where his father had gone. 

“I’ll get another drink; do you want one?” Julia moved towards the kitchen, glasses in hand. She rinsed them out, washing up the blackened saucepan at the same time. Sherry’s dish was empty again, the kidney merely a memory now. As she worked Julia could hear Alec in the background on the phone. Sherry reappeared and mewed hopefully, going to twine herself lovingly around Julia’s legs.

“What do you want? You’ve had your dinner, you little glutton.”

“Here give her the paper; she can have the scraps of fish” said Alec behind her, bending down to pick up the boldest of the kittens who had followed his mother.

“You’re going out then?”

“Theo’s having a few friends over but it won’t get started for a bit as Peter has to work late. I’ll be quiet coming in. If I’m too late Theo will find me a corner.” He took the drink Julia held out to him, and sat down. The kitten, now on his lap, immediately climbed his shirt front to explore the kitchen table. “Ouch! You monkey! Julia what _are_ you going to do with them?”

“I thought I’d give one to Sarah and Jonathan for a wedding present and let your mother deal with the rest. She’ll be in her element finding homes for them.” Julia removed the kitten from his precarious perch looking over the edge of the table and put him on the floor next to his mother, who promptly rolled him over and started washing him vigorously. His struggles for freedom were firmly quashed by capable paws as Sherry asserted maternal authority with her dominant pink tongue.

Alec shook his head slightly at the sight. “Best give in old chap” he said “There’s no escaping your mother.” He looked up to meet Julia’s eyes. “She wants me to give Sarah away.”

“It’s an olive branch, Alec.”

“Grown by Sarah.”

“Perhaps” Julia acknowledged, “but your mother’s selective realities never harmed anyone and your father is dead now. It’s her peace offering.” 

It was an offer that couldn’t be refused.


	2. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Julia attend Alec's sister's wedding at his mother's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:Disclaimer:** I don’t own these characters and make no profit from them  
>  **Note:** This is a sequel to “You are Cordially Invited...” (posted 15/04/2008). The idea for both stories originally came from the "In Their Own Words" 'character interviews' being conducted on maryrenaultfics in 2008 and **mysid** ’s question to Alec about blackmail and subsequently my sister Greer's masterful interviews of Alec have also contributed to its development.   
> **Acknowledgments:** Alec quotes from AE Housman’s Last Poems, No XXXII, originally published 1922. Thank you again to Greer Watson for assistance with editing.

Home was different now. The first inkling of change came when they arrived late Friday evening and a stranger in an American lieutenant’s uniform opened the door to them. Alec expected the house to be crowded with relatives there for the wedding. Instead, he found it crowded with men attached to the local air base. It was being expanded and they’d needed a place to stay until their accommodation was ready. There was no place else large enough in the village, so his mother had moved into the small back annex leaving the main section of the house for military use. However most relatives were putting up a few miles away in town and planning just to come over for the day of the wedding itself. 

“Will there be room for us all?” Alec asked, 

“Of course there’s always room,” said his mother vaguely, looking with fascination into the box Julia had presented with Sherry and her kittens. “Oh how gorgeous she is”, she exclaimed. “Yes, your kittens are beautiful and you are _very_ clever,” she said, talking directly to the distressed mother cat. “Was it a _very_ bad journey? Don’t worry; it’s over now and it _is_ lovely having you to stay. We’ll find you a nice quiet warm corner where no one will bother your babies.” As long as Alec could remember his mother had always had some sort of waif or stray around that she doted on. Clearly Sherry was going to be the latest. He felt a bit miffed. It was not that he’d expected a fatted calf, exactly, but he hadn’t realised he’d be so taken for granted either, superseded by a cat.

On the other hand, she hardly noticed the fact there were four of them, not the two she’d expected. Colonna had been given leave unexpectedly and turned up on their doorstep without warning that morning, so Julia had brought her along. And when Alec had asked to borrow the car for the trip, Theo Sumner had invited himself along for moral support. Peter was away for the weekend, and he said he couldn’t just send Alec off for a grand reconciliation and not be there in case it all went wrong. 

“Tell her I’m your chauffeur. Then if she gets upset at seeing me, I’ll just leave,” Theo had said, “and whisk you away too if you want.” Theo had swapped shifts at the hospital so he’d be able to come.

But Alec’s mother barely seemed aware of them, beyond saying “You’ll have to share, of course. Everyone’s sharing.”

Julia and Colonna took possession of a small corner room while Alec and Theo were directed up to the attic and dismissed with a small mountain of bedding to make up a pallet on the floor. It felt rather like being a teenager again and bringing a friend home to visit. His mother left after issuing a brief warning not to stay up all night chattering and he was left with the feeling she expected them to make a raid on the kitchen for a midnight feast. It all felt a bit like boarding school parties over tuck boxes again, a far cry from the drama he had half anticipated. He realised that, even if his mother did believe he and Julia were together, she would never have put them in the same room as an unmarried couple, far less Theo and Colonna. It seemed, by turning up as a foursome, they might have made it all easier. 

Alec woke first the next morning. He disentangled himself from Theo, who muttered a slight protest at the disturbance, before rolling over and returning to sleep. Peter was a lucky man, Alec thought, pulling on his robe while he looked down fondly at the curly head peeping out from under the bedding. He then slipped quietly down the narrow stairs to the kitchen, expecting to find it deserted in the early morning. Instead he found it occupied by his mother. She sat stroking Sherry, who sat on the table purring beside her. A magnificent tomcat perched on the back of his mother’s chair, resting his front paws on her shoulders and leaning against the side of her head. He was watching the new addition to the household intently. Rufus, an elderly Irish setter, rested in a bed of old blankets in one corner. Alec remembered him as a much younger animal, eagerly bounding up to say hello to newcomers. Now he lay curled with his head on his paws, and, beyond opening a sleepy eye to check out Alec, he seemed uninterested in visitors.

“Morning, Mother,” Alec said. A cold cup of tea sat on the corner counter, obviously left when his mother was distracted by the cats. He checked the large brown teapot beside it. It was still hot under its cosy. Alec threw away the unwanted cold drink, got out two clean cups, and poured fresh. He sat across the table from his mother, and pushed her cup toward her, before lifting his own to savour his first sip of the day. 

“It’s good to have you home, Alec,” she said. “You really mustn’t leave it so long between visits.” 

He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face. So that was how she was going to play it – pretending this was just another visit, a little longer since last time, but ignoring the gap of several years and all the reasons for it. He supposed that was better than the arguments when he had left. What was it someone had said? Home is where, when you have no place else to go, they have to take you in. Except he’d been thrown _out_ by Father.

Sighing inwardly, he accepted the inevitable. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger in future.”

“Tell me all about your job at the hospital,” she said, just as years before she’d asked all about school at the start of each holiday. Alec found himself falling back into the pattern of the past, as he explained what he was doing, and his plans for future specialisation. 

“There are so many men who are maimed and scarred,” he said, “and they are doing wonders with reconstructions now.” Alec said. “It’s amazing seeing them rebuild a man’s nose.”

“And that’s what you want to do?” she asked. 

“Well I seem to be rather good at it,” he said. “It doesn’t just need skill at surgery. You need to be quite precise and very patient, and not everyone can do that.”

“But you can.”

“Yes. Perhaps, if I get really good at rebuilding wounded soldiers, they’ll let me make a new one from scratch. Don’t worry though; techniques have improved so much, I promise not to make another Frankenstein’s monster!”

They laughed at the mild joke, smiling at one another, if not in perfect harmony, at least with a comfortable level of understanding. The discussion about his career plans provided a bridge between them, on which they could meet without tension. As they talked, the room gradually filled as, one by one, people roused and came downstairs looking for food. The Americans came first, to timetable, efficiently organising breakfast. Disturbed by the commotion, Rufus and Sherry disappeared down the corridor, while the tomcat fled to the garden. Alec found himself put to work slicing bread for toast, as his mother was handed a suitable saucepan and the jar of oatmeal. 

Colonna and Julia were the first family down. Julia looked radiant. Alex was reminded, not for the first time, of the beneficial effects of sex on one’s complexion. He hadn’t seen her look so relaxed in an age. Colonna exuberantly stole the show. She flung her arms around Alec’s mother and kissed her on both cheeks. 

“Isn’t it a glorious day, Aunt Margaret? You don’t mind my calling you Aunt Margaret, do you? I feel I know you just like my own aunt, Julia’s told me so much about you,” she declared, before she sailed round the room kissing everyone else too. 

Margaret Deacon looked at her, clearly bemused. The sky was full of low grey clouds, and a quiet steady drizzle had started, that looked set to continue for at least the morning, if not the whole day. Hardly a glorious day, yet it appeared brighter just from Colonna’s presence. 

“She’s a very lively girl,” remarked his mother to Alec. “How did you meet her?”

“She’s Julia’s friend. They used to be in nursing together before the war, but Colonna never finished her training.”

“That explains it,” she said. 

Alec looked questioning. 

“She doesn’t look like a nurse.” There was a brief pause before she added, “although she is a good foil for Julia.”

Alec blinked in surprise. Surely his mother couldn’t be suggesting...?

“That beautiful short blonde hair provides such a lovely contrast to Julia’s long dark hair.” His mother looked thoughtful. “I wonder if she’d mind sitting for me while she’s here. It would make a very nice picture.” She stopped stirring the porridge in the saucepan, as her thoughts drifted off, planning her painting.

Alec’s mouth twitched. _That_ was more like his mother, and he went to rescue the food that was in danger of scorching. Looking at the busy kitchen as he stirred the pot, Alec was struck anew by how different it all was. Colonna’s bright hair was surrounded by the Americans, drawn to her vivacity like bees to honey. She laughed and joked with ease, well-practiced flirt that she was. Julia sat nearby, watching with an indulgent smile, while nonetheless receiving her own fair share of attention from the men. Her slender trim figure and quiet aura of competence provided their own attraction. Despite the military efficiency of the Americans, it was a noisy disorganised scene, not the orderly regimented kitchen of his childhood, ruled as that had been by their gorgon-like housekeeper.

His sister Sarah was next down. Her arms were full of dresses she had brought to iron. Frothy lace, seed pearls and fine muslin gathers were draped over the back of a chair while she readied the iron and board. Her own gown was full and formal. Like many brides these days she was re-using her mother’s old wedding dress. The bridesmaids’ outfits were a surprise, though, beautiful frocks with full skirts.

“However did you get enough coupons for those dresses?” Julia asked.

Sarah laughed. “Don’t be silly. They were Alice and Emily’s first communion dresses. Fortunately Elizabeth bought them a bit big so they still fit.” 

“Oh, I forgot your sister married a Catholic,” said Julia.

“But they’re pink,” Alec protested, almost simultaneously.

“We boiled them with red flannel. It was Mother’s idea. They turned out really well.” Sarah answered Alec’s question first, before she added, “We thought Father would act the Victorian dragon when he realised Elizabeth was pregnant and planned to marry a Catholic. But I guess, coming so soon after Alec’s rebellion, nothing seemed too terrible. In the end Father was a perfect lamb.”

“He accepted them?” asked Alec. 

Sarah laughed again. “He absolutely doted on the twins from the day they were born.”

“Look, you shouldn’t be doing this on your wedding day,” said Julia. “Brides don’t do chores.” She deftly took Sarah’s place at the ironing board and began spreading out one of the dresses in preparation. “You know I said I was giving you one of the kittens for a present. Why don’t you go and choose which one you want?” 

She called over to Alec’s mother who was now seated back at the table, absently nibbling on some toast, while listening to Colonna, sitting beside her discussing hairstyles. She was trying to convince Alec’s mother to try something different for the wedding. “Aunt Margaret, where did you put the kittens?” 

“They’re off in the housekeeper’s sitting room, dear.”

“Go on,” said Julia, “and take Alec with you. This kitchen is too crowded and he can introduce you to the kittens.”

Sarah led the way down the passage toward the set of small rooms where the former housekeeper had lived. 

“When did the housekeeper leave?” asked Alec as they walked. 

“After Father died” said Sarah. “One of the first things I did was give her notice; she was just so difficult with Mother. Not that she minded leaving; she only stayed so long because of Father. She was always complaining about the lack of help, but with the war there was no one else to be had. She always suited Father’s ways more than Mother’s.”

The kittens were instantly apparent as they entered the sitting room. Four lively mischievous bodies ignored them, too busy with their play. Two were harassing Rufus. One was perched on his head; the other was playing pounce with his tail. Rufus had a patient long-suffering look on his face; no peace for an elderly dog in this household! The third kitten had found a spool of thread and was chasing it across the floor. The fourth was trying to climb one of the curtains. Their mother, Sherry, lay curled on the sofa. She maintained a generally watchful eye, but her indulgent laissez-faire attitude was apparent and the kittens were taking full advantage of this.

“Oh, they are adorable,” exclaimed Sarah as she crossed to rescue the kitten who was now mewing from the top of the curtain.

Sitting herself on the carpet beside Rufus, she rescued him from his two tormentors. Alec brought her the fourth and sat down beside her. He began stroking the old dog’s ears and received a grateful heavy head on his lap in response. Sarah busied herself playing with the kittens.

“How is Mother coping since Father died?” he asked.

“Fine, but she’s had me here, sorting things for her. The real test will come when I leave,” said Sarah. “Although, she is coming out of herself, now she doesn’t have to cope with his fits of anger. I think, as time goes on, she’ll gradually get herself organised.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Alec. He remembered his mother as a warm hearted but scatterbrained woman, hopelessly impractical, her mind firmly focused on her beloved animals and watercolours. The household had lived in a state of perpetual anxiety of his father’s periodic rages, usually sparked by some mess one of the animals had created when his mother wasn’t watching, but occasionally over her art. He still remembered his father’s tantrum when she’d inadvertently used one of his fine shirts as an overall when painting. Each rage had left Margaret more vague as, over the years, she retreated emotionally ever further from the irascible man she had married. 

“I know it doesn’t excuse him, but marriage to someone like Mother can’t have been easy for Father. Do you remember the time she took the guppies to a party?” said Sarah.

They both laughed, remembering how their eccentric mother had arrived once at a formal do with a fishbowl hidden under her coat. She’d explained to her hostess that the female guppy was giving birth and she didn’t like to leave her alone. It had been cold that evening, so she’d kept them warm under her coat during the journey. Father had put a good face on it at the party, but when they returned home he had erupted in fury. 

“Of course, it was also difficult for Father,” she said, “given his position as magistrate. He had an image to uphold. It was very hard on Mother, though. They really were hopelessly unsuited. Nowadays, she says all the correct things, as his widow, but really I think she’s finding it much easier without him.”

“Marriage is the hell one creates for oneself,” said Alec. His head was bent, as he absently stroked Rufus, and he seemed lost in thought as he made this pronouncement.

Sarah looked at him oddly. “Well a bad marriage is, certainly.”

Alec looked up, startled. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I shouldn’t have said that on your wedding day. One is supposed to wish the bride happiness, not make gloomy prognostications. You’ll be all right with Jonathan.”

“Yes I will,” said Sarah, exuding confidence through every pore. “It helps being related, however distantly; there are no nasty surprises. And then we also practically grew up together.” She turned her attention downwards to two of the kittens who had returned to Rufus’ tail. She distracted them by tapping her fingers on their backs, and gently tugging their tails until they pounced on her as their new target.

Carefully, Sarah didn’t look up at Alec, as she offered, “Julia said you were living with someone at one point.”

“Yes, Sandy, but he died in an air raid,” came the ready reply.

“What was he like?” 

Alec was surprised by the question. Even though he and Sarah had once been close he’d never confided in her years ago. If he’d given it any thought, he would have presumed she wouldn’t want to know, not settled down for a cosy heart-to-heart as she appeared to be doing. Maybe he’d done his sister an injustice.

“A decent person. I met him at medical school; he was a year behind me. He accepted and loved me, and let me take care of him. It was what I needed. I was in a relationship before him that didn’t work out, and Sandy provided a respite after that. He was just always _there_ for me.”

“He sounds nice.”

Alec’s eyes unfocused as he looked backwards on his life with Sandy. “Yes.” He didn’t add how trapped he had sometimes felt by Sandy’s expectations, but acknowledged, “After he died, I realised just how much I’d counted on him.” He’d missed Sandy a lot more than he’d ever expected. Alec smiled, but his eyes were sad. “Do you remember that Houseman poem?” he asked. 

“Which one?”

“We took it in school.” He quoted:

_It was not foes to conquer,  
Nor sweethearts to be kind,  
But it was friends to die for  
That I would seek and find._

“Sandy was one of those friends.”

Sarah looked thoughtful. ”I guess I never realised before.”

“Realised what?”

“Well, that you were married. Somehow I don’t think of two men together being married, like Jonathan and me.”

“Well, we weren’t. Married, I mean. Not that men can’t be. I have two friends who are. Oh, there hasn’t been any ceremony or anything but they clearly _are_.” He was thinking of the last time he saw Ralph and Laurie, the aura of fulfilment surrounding them and the way they finished one another’s sentences. He hoped it lasted.

“But Sandy and I weren’t like that. Good friends. I think _that_ would have lasted. Don’t forget though, before I was injured, I expected to join up once I qualified, and then we’d have gone our separate ways.” He failed to say how Sandy had wanted more; no need to dwell on past problems.

“And your injury? You’re all better?”

“Oh yes. I expect I’ll have one of those weather aches when I’m an old man, but it doesn’t stop me doing anything.”

There was another pause while Sarah’s head bent again. One little body had now crept onto her lap and she was tickling his tummy. Alec waited patiently, now expecting her next question.

Eventually she asked, “And the friend you brought to the wedding?”

“Theo? He came with me for moral support. We all have our horror stories about family quarrels, you know, so we do that for one another.”

“Nothing more?”

“No,” said Alec, leaving out the twinge of envy he’d felt for Peter that morning. He wasn’t _really_ attracted to Theo, not in any lasting way. It was just... his mind searched for the right term... _convenient._

“And there have been no more problems?” This time, Sarah looked clearly uncomfortable as she broached a difficult subject. 

“Problems?” queried Alec. 

“From that horrid man - the one who told Father those nasty lies years ago. You know I never believed a word he said,” Sarah declared loyally.

“They weren’t all lies, Sarah. That was the problem,” said Alec gently.

“You would _never_ have coerced anyone,” she said forthrightly. 

“No, that was a lie,” Alec confirmed. “But George and I were lovers, until his father found out, and started kicking up a fuss. _That_ put an end to it.” He looked at his sister whose sympathies were clear on her face. He knew now that he really he _had_ done her a disservice, years ago, in not realising where her loyalties lay. “No, Father took care of it in the end, _before_ he threw me out.” 

“He never paid!”

“No, no chance. If money was what he wanted, that stupid man picked the wrong mark in Father. Although, you know I actually don’t think it was about money. More, he just relished the chance to get at the local bigwig. 

“Then he definitely picked the wrong person; Father never allowed anyone to best him. So what happened?” Sarah asked.

“Father called in his solicitor and told him a pack of half-truths. I suspect the man knew he wasn’t hearing the full story, but, given he was being paid by Father to represent him, it wasn’t questioned. He sent George’s father off with a stiff warning about spreading slander.”

“Didn’t you see George again?”

“No, I didn’t really want to, after what happened. He may not have started it, but he gave in to disapproval, and I just couldn’t feel the same about things.”

Uncomfortable remembering the past, Alec pointed out, “Look we can’t hang about here all day. You’ve got a wedding to get ready for. Have you chosen that one, then?” He nodded at the brown striped kitten Sarah was now cuddling in her arms.

“I think so, yes.”

“Then don’t you have a dress to put on, or do you really plan to get married in your bathrobe?” he asked. 

Rufus got up as they did and plodded after them out of the sitting room. They shooed back one kitten that had decided to explore, before firmly closing the door, and making their way to the kitchen. The American officers had gone. In their place were identical young girls twirling in circles, showing off their bridesmaid dresses to Theo, who appeared suitably impressed. Margaret Deacon was dressed in her finery and seated at the table. Colonna hovered behind her, brush in hand, busy with hairpins and flowers. Julia was tying a few last ribbons on the posies. 

“Come on you two. You’re the last to get ready,” said Julia. “If you’re not quick about it Sarah, you’ll be late for your own wedding.”

Alec dashed upstairs to find someone had laid out his wedding suit, shirt and tie, all neatly pressed, ready for him to wear. After a quick wash and shave he donned the clothes and nipped back downstairs to find that Julia and Colonna had gone ahead with the girls in their father’s car. Theo’s car was waiting to take everyone left to the church. His mother was already ensconced in the rear seat. They were just waiting for Sarah, now. 

“Everything all right?” asked Theo quietly. “You were gone a while with your sister.”

“Fine,” answered Alec. “And you?”

“Your mother was entirely charming,” Theo replied. “She thinks I have interesting cheekbones and wants to paint me. I can’t say I disagree; the lady shows _great_ discernment. Here,” he said, handing an umbrella to Alec, “you’ll need this.”

Both heads turned as movement caught their attention. Sarah stood at the top of the steps in her beautiful ivory gown. Theo moved quickly towards her. He raised her hand with a flourish and saluted it, then handed her the posy of pink roses Julia had tied for her. Then, his umbrella open to protect her from the slight drizzle, Theo escorted Sarah down the steps, while Alec opened the car door for her, and stooped to catch her dress as she entered. 

It was only a few minutes drive to the village church. It looked no different from Alec’s childhood memories, a hodgepodge of different styles from Norman to perpendicular, within a charming churchyard filled with gravestones, yew trees, lilac and rose bushes. Theo parked just outside the churchyard entrance and ushered Margaret Deacon up the path under his umbrella. Alec helped his sister out of the car. He held his umbrella protectively over her as she quickly stepped towards the church, holding her skirt high to keep it out of a puddle. 

They paused for a few minutes at the porch while Sarah calmed her excited nieces, before smoothing out her dress and veil. Inside the church, Alec could see the last few people taking their places. Then they were standing at the back, listening to the organ and waiting for the cue to start the procession. 

“Be happy, Sarah,” Alec said, and with this he gave her hand a quick squeeze and bent to kiss her cheek. Through her veil, he could see she was beaming with joy as she turned to look at him.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Alec. Don’t leave it so long between visits again.” 

Alec smiled. Sarah’s words were almost the same ones his mother had spoken to him earlier, but the meaning was entirely different.


	3. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Colonna's relationship deepends while Alec feels at a lose end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to :** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 16/07/2008  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to **True River** for the interview with Ed Barnes (posted 02/06/2008). You gave me an idea for the continuation of Alec’s story. Thanks are again due to my sister for her editing.  
>  **Note:** One of the questions posed for Colonna’s interview was about which person took the initiative in her relationship with Charge Nurse Valentine (as she was known at the time their relationship started). It was never answered. This story is my response.

“Here, I made you some tea.”

Alec’s eyes opened quickly; he had trained himself to sleep lightly and wake easily, alert for being on call. He wasn’t on call today though, and the room he woke to was his own and the bed a proper one, not the flimsy cot and thin lumpy mattress provided at hospital. It was early morning and left to himself he would have slept later. He looked up to see Edward Barnes, who looked back down, smiling charmingly. God! He thought. Yes of course, the pretty boy from Laurie’s old school. It all came back to him now. None of this crossed his lips, however, as he smiled back at the young man standing by his bed. A hand reached down. 

“Here, let me…” Ed said, and he pushed an extra pillow behind Alec as he sat up in bed. The mug of tea was handed to him, before Ed pulled a chair across from the corner of the room, and sat down beside the bed, his own mug in hand. He’d brought up toast as well, and the tea was in Alec’s favourite mug, carefully washed from the night before. He was clearly being a _thoughtful_ boy to his host, Alec realised, dutifully showing his gratitude for the refuge Alec had provided the night before.

“Thanks”, said Alec. One clearly had to be pleasant. After all, there was no reason to snub the boy. 

Ed smiled at this brief response. “I have to leave soon. They’ll be expecting me back at the base, and I just wanted to say how awfully much I appreciated what you did for me last night.”

“Think nothing of it; anyone would have done the same.”

“Well, you got me out of a tight fix, and I’m grateful. If there’s anything I can ever do for you…”

Alec looked again and realised with a start there was an invitation he’d almost overlooked. From Ed Barnes? He hadn’t anticipated this, although there was a certain logic to it, given the events of last night. Inwardly he sighed at the obvious hero-worship. Outwardly he gave no sign as he smiled again pleasantly at the handsome youth, sipped his tea and finished his toast. 

“What time do you need to get back to the base?”

“Oh, that’s flexible.”

“Flexible?” The inconsistency was obvious, and Ed had the grace to look a little shamefaced. 

Hastily he responded, “Well I probably should be back _now_ , really, but if you were to ring, and say I’d been in a spot of bother last night – got a knock on the head - and you needed to observe me for a while, they’d be all right about it.”

“Right then, I’d best be up.”

Decisively, Alec got out of bed and reached for his dressing gown. He was conscious of admiring eyes surveying him, of his body’s inevitable response, and Ed Barnes’ deepening awareness, before he managed to cover himself. Briskly Alec moved out of the bedroom, pausing only briefly to use the toilet, before slipping downstairs to the entrance hall where the phone rested on the credenza. Ed followed with the tray of dirty mugs and plates, which he washed at the kitchen sink, before joining Alec in the hallway. 

“Yes, well, clearly he was in no fit state to return last night after the ruckus, but he’s right as rain this morning so he’ll be back with you shortly.” Alec could feel Ed’s breath on the back of his neck as he spoke with the captain at the base, could sense his uncertainty as he overheard Alec’s side of the conversation.

“Right... yes, OK. I expect he’ll be back with you in the next half-hour then. Just keep an eye out in case there’s a delayed reaction, although after eight hours it’s very unlikely.” Alec did his best to make it sound like an authoritative medical opinion, before replacing the phone receiver, and turning round to face a disappointed-looking Ed.

“It won’t do, you know. It would be all too easy to check, and they’d find out I wasn’t even on call last night, let alone ringing from hospital this morning. _And_ you’d not be listed even as an outpatient. All it would need is one of those sailors from last night to decide to cause trouble, and ring with some tip. You’d find yourself in pretty deep water when your C.O. rang the hospital, and I’d be too.”

“Oh…” Ed looked crestfallen. “I didn’t think.”

Alec relented. He was just young after all – young and rather appealing, and somewhat lost since Christopher (who had been mentoring him) was transferred last month. 

“I don’t suppose you know when you’ll next get a pass, but give me a ring. Maybe we can do something together then, if you’d like.”

Ed’s face brightened. “I’d like that.”

Almost of its own free will, Alec’s hand reached out to ruffle the forelock of Ed’s hair before touching him gently on his nose, stroking him lightly the way one would comfort a puppy. “You’d best be off; they’ll be watching out for you at the base.”

“Yes – thanks. I’ll be in touch soon.” With that Ed moved so his face nestled briefly into Alec’s hand before turning away and opening the door. Alec shut it after him, re-latching the chain before turning back round. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a neat pile of folded bedding on the end of the sofa where Ed had slept last night. In front of him was Colonna, standing on the last stair watching, her eyes alight with glee, hands moving in soundless applause.

“Don’t _you_ start,” said Alec. “I know just what you’ll say!” 

“But he’s such a _nice_ young man and you handled him so well!” she protested. “Besides, you do need _someone,_ even if he is a bit young for you,” she added, tossing the words over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen. 

Alec didn’t respond as he moved back up the stairs heading towards his room. There was no real answer, after all. She was right; he did want someone and Ed Barnes was too young. He pulled off his dressing gown and climbed back into bed. Underneath the covers his hands ran down over his torso and paused at his groin. It _had_ been a while - since his sister’s wedding, in fact. Not for any particular reason, more just lack of opportunity, what with one thing and another: being busy at work, some friends transferring, others developing steady relationships. He had to admit to feeling a little frisson of excitement as he remembered the definite interest in Ed’s eyes that morning. Not so much because of Ed’s own attractions; more just because he was available. Alec’s hands settled into familiar motions as he daydreamed.

In the kitchen, Colonna hummed tunefully as she pottered around, getting breakfast. The sunny garden looked inviting. There were some clouds on the horizon, but if it just rained a little in the afternoon, they could still use the patio for the party tonight. _Certainly_ they could use it this morning; the rain would hold off long enough for _that._

“Practicing already?”

Colonna looked over her shoulder at Julia who had just come into the kitchen. She was wearing a scarlet satin negligee Colonna remembered from their nursing days, an incongruously flamboyant garment for that sober and sensible charge nurse Julia had been when they first had met. It had been the contrasts which had first attracted, the steadiness of love, respect, and common interests which had endured. 

“Not really.” She sang a scale, giving it a little trill at the end as a flourish. “There will be enough practicing later, before tonight’s performance; just singing this time.”

“It’s nice having you about,” said Julia and she came up behind Colonna and hugged her round the middle, resting her head on Colonna’s shoulder, and nuzzling her nose into her friend’s neck. 

“A whole week together,” Colonna agreed. “And even after the group leaves, the rest of the tour is close enough, I’ll be able to get back every so often.” 

“Hmm.” Julia’s hands had shifted upwards; she was paying scant attention to Colonna’s words.

“Do you want plum jam on your toast, or some of the new strawberry we just made?”

“S t r a w b e r r y,” Julia drew the word out, emphasising it as she explored Colonna’s breasts, and got a giggle in response. 

“Be serious!”

“I am, very serious.”

At this Colonna looked around, registering the intent in Julia’s dark eyes. If, as they said, the eyes were mirrors to the soul, Julia’s showed the solid bedrock of her character. It was the secure base from which Colonna launched her flights of fancy. She had fled before, at times uneasy at the depth of affection and demands it made on her less constant nature. Always she returned, much as the female chaffinch returns to the same territory each spring, rejoining the males left behind for winter. 

“I thought we’d sit outside for breakfast,” she offered. 

“No, come upstairs with me,” countered Julia. “I started running the bath before I came down to find you; it should be full by now.” With that she filled a tray with toast and mugs of tea before turning to lead the way upstairs. Colonna followed, tray in hand, for the moment a willing acolyte to her sorceress, previous plans for a morning picnic abandoned in the face of Circe’s wiles.

The sound of Julia’s bedroom door shutting firmly woke Alec for the second time. As he made his way to the bathroom he could hear soft murmuring voices and gentle laughter coming from her room. The bathroom was damp with steam; a pile of used towels had been abandoned on the floor beside the tub. He smiled as he noticed someone had written “Colonna loves Julia” in the steamy film covering the long mirror, enclosing it in a heart with an arrow shot through it, like a child’s drawing on the cubicle walls of the school toilets. He opened a window wide to let out the flowery scent of bath oil mingled with femininity.

Alec’s own toiletry was purposeful and brief. There was sufficient hot water left for his shave, without any need to light the geyser again, but insufficient to linger in sybaritic pleasure. Not that he had any reason to dally; he really just needed to get a move on for the start of his shift at hospital. After dressing he went downstairs, meeting Julia at the front door. She was in uniform, ready to leave for work, but had paused to pick up the post from the entrance mat. 

“This one’s for you,” she said, handing him an envelope, not looking at him as she concentrated on a letter of her own.

Alec glanced down. It was from Ralph; he recognised the handwriting from the address. Alec tucked the letter into an inside pocket of his jacket. Hopefully there would be a quiet moment at some point during the day so he could read it. He looked over at his cousin; she had a frown on her forehead and her lips were pursed as she read. 

“Bad news?” asked Alec.

“No, not really. Look, we need to get going now; otherwise we’ll be late,” said Julia. “We can talk about it as we go.”

They set off down the path along the side of the common, walking briskly. The bright sunshine of early morning had already clouded over and the tinge of damp in the breeze heralded rain for the afternoon. 

“You seem to have had some excitement last night,” said Julia. 

“Excitement?” returned Alec. 

“Judging by your face,” said Julia. “What, didn’t you notice the bruise at the side of your neck?”

“Hell... no I didn’t realise.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, only a little love bite. Probably no one will notice.”

“You did,” said Alec. 

“Yes, but I knew to look for it. Colonna told me you brought someone back. Who was it?”

Alec explained how he’d met Ed by chance on his way home from the hospital. “Silly fool had had one too many and propositioned the wrong person before I happened on him. The confrontation was about to turn nasty when I arrived.”

“Normally you manage to finesse your way out of sticky situations,” remarked Julia.

“I tried,” said Alec, “but Ed didn’t pick up on the cues I was sending. In the end we passed it all off as a joke and a bit of practice for the hospital panto, but it was a close call at first.”

After this exchange, they walked in companionable silence for a time, having fallen into that steady pace that ramblers keep up seemingly effortlessly for hours. They had left the path by the common behind, and now were making their way through successive rows of houses, on a course leading them into ever more urbanised territory, the closer they came to the hospital complex. The sounds of bird song gave way to the noise of cars, and bicycle bells warned pedestrians of their approach.

“Everything all set for the party tonight?” asked Alec. 

“Pretty much,” said Julia. “There are a few things left to organise but Colonna has them well in hand. She’ll finish them off this afternoon before going to the theatre for last rehearsal.”

“It’s a shame you couldn’t be there for her opening night,” said Alec. 

“There will be other opening nights, and anyway, this performance is really meant for the men at the base,” said Julia. “At least my shift will be finished in time to join the party later. It will be good to meet the other cast members. She’s talked so much about everyone.”

“Your rivals.”

Julia smiled contentedly. “Not really, no. From what she’s said, the only other woman our age is married. It will just be nice being able to picture them when I read her letters.”

“Ah yes, that letter. What was it about?”

“It was from Mic Freeborn.”

“Who?”

“ _You_ know, the man whose wife just died. Colonna told me about him and _I_ told _you_ last week. Remember? I said he was moving to Bridstow and needed to find somewhere.” 

“Oh yes. So he’s replied. Is he coming to us?”

“Yes, for a little while, until he gets on his feet and finds a proper place for himself. We’ll be a bit crowded, but I told him he can have the attic room until he finds something better. It will do in a pinch.”

“I see,” said Alec.

“You _are_ all right with it, aren’t you, Alec?” asked Julia. “I couldn’t _not_ invite him. He really needed to get away from old memories, and the post at Bridstow came up at the right time. He should fit in. He’s worked at a hospital before, so he knows the routine.”

“Yes I can see it makes sense,” said Alec. “It’s just... well, will he understand about you and me?”

“That won’t be a problem,” reassured Julia, as they turned in at the hospital gate. “He met Colonna and me before the war. I promise he won’t blink an eyelash when you bring home that pretty flyboy to practice the panto with.” 

Alec groaned as Julia parted from him at the main entrance. She laughed as she turned down the corridor that led to her ward, effectively ending any chance of rebuttal. He wasn’t going to live down last night in a hurry.


	4. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec makes a new friend at a party but his social life is interrupted by a medical crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 16/08/2008  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements:** The maryrenaultfics summer challenge of 2008: “long hot summer evenings and battles hard fought and won” played its part in the story's development.  
>  Author's Notes:   
> 1\. Thank you to my sister Greer for her editing suggestions.   
> 2\. No True River, this is not the story you have been waiting for, but I hope you like it anyway! Interesting that you and I both chose to write about parties for this challenge, albeit different kinds of parties.  
> 3\. Leolane said the theatre scenes and Rollo Baines were her favourite parts of _Kind Are Her Answers_. I hope she likes this.

The music swirled around and permeated through Julia as she and Colonna danced. The gramophone was playing a lovely slow waltz. She rested her head on Colonna’s shoulder as they circled. Colonna led so certainly, using subtle pressure on Julia’s back and shoulders to steer her round the sitting room. Julia gave herself up to the embrace, snuggling in, happily oblivious to everyone else. How _good_ that Colonna had gone to an all-girls school when she was younger; she’d learned to lead _beautifully_. All those dance lessons had certainly paid off in her case. 

Colonna smiled down at the dark head propped on her shoulder. It had been a good night, a successful first performance, followed by this. She looked round the room at the gaiety and laughter as she drew Julia more securely into her arms. They were a good group, and she liked to see them all enjoying themselves. Well, almost all; she looked across the room at the one person who sat surrounded in gloom.

Alec was slumped in the wing chair, nursing his drink. Around him the party was in full swing, spilling out from the sitting room, through the kitchen, and into the garden. Perhaps it was the unexpectedly early start he’d had to the day that had left him feeling out of sorts. Perhaps it was because he had worked a long and gruelling shift at the hospital, staying on after it had officially ended, to deal with an emergency. Perhaps it was having to meet so many new people when he was tired, not just Colonna’s theatre group, but all their hangers-on as well. This wasn’t like a party with his close circle of longstanding friends where he could just relax and be comfortable. It was like trying on new dress shoes, all shiny and stiff, instead of nicely broken in old walking boots one’s feet could relax into with comfort. Whatever the reason, he was conscious of feeling out of step with those around him. _He_ didn’t fit. It was a sensation he was unfamiliar with in his own home. 

Alec closed his eyes with a long sigh; his hands reached up to rub at his aching eyelids. A light tap on his shoulder disturbed his reverie and he opened his eyes to a concerned-looking face. The leading man from Colonna’s theatre group looked down at him. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Rollo said, “but there’s a young lady at the door asking for you.”

“A young lady?” asked Alec, sitting up in the chair. 

“Yes, from next door. A girl, actually; she looks about twelve,” said Rollo. “She says her granny’s been taken ill and she wondered if you could help.”

“I see,” said Alec. “Yes, of course I’ll come.” He pushed himself out of the comfortable chair, and made his way to the door, Rollo following behind. A rather forlorn adolescent in a nightgown and slippers waited just outside on the front step. 

“What’s happened, Sally?” asked Alec.

“It’s Gran,” she replied. “She went to use the lavatory and fell on the way. She’s lying on the floor and can’t get up. Her breathing is ever so funny. I called the doctor, but the woman said he’s already out seeing someone else. I didn’t like to wait.” 

“It’s all right, Sally,” said Alec, “I’ll see what I can do. You go back home and I’ll be over as soon as I’ve got some things.” He disappeared upstairs, leaving the child at the door. She looked hesitant and, despite the warm summer night, shivered. 

“Where’s your mum?” Rollo asked. 

“Out,” came the reply. “It’s just me at home with Gran tonight.”

“Alec won’t be long,” Rollo said. “Why don’t you and I go back together, and see what we can do to make your Gran comfortable in the meantime?” 

Silently the child nodded, and turned toward the neighbouring cottage. Its front door was still ajar from when she had run out to get them. By the time she and Rollo had reached the house, Alec had rejoined them. He held a stethoscope in one hand and a suture kit in the other. He’d kept one of the latter at home since he lived with Sandy.

As they entered the hallway to Sally’s house, the girl’s hand crept into Alec’s, clutching his fingers over the stethoscope. He pulled free of her grasp as he spied his neighbour, to him now just another patient, lying crumpled on the floor next to the stairs. Her face was twisted, and fear stared from the old eyes that watched him bending down to her. 

“Mrs Paston, Sally called me. Let’s have a look at you now,” Alec said soothingly. 

The old woman moaned as she tried and failed to say something. Her head moved slightly, jerkily, and her gaze shifted towards the child. Alec nodded, understanding the gesture. 

“Sally, could you please get me some warm water and a cloth?” he asked. “And could you help her please, Rollo?” He looked up at the man, trying without words to convey his wish to shield the girl. Then he turned back to the patient in front of him and reached out his hands to start his examination. He was almost certain what he would find. He warmed the stethoscope by holding it in his fist for a moment, before placing it against the base of her neck, leaning forward to listen. Then, it moved down her chest, until he could better hear her breathing. Gently his hands probed as he checked her body for fractures. He moved the hallway table light closer so he could look carefully into her eyes. As he expected, one lid drooped and her left pupil didn’t react the way it should. Carefully he moved Mrs Paston into the recovery position; he would need help lifting her. 

“How is she?” asked Rollo. He had entered the hallway silently while Alec’s attention was on his patient and Alec started at the sound of his voice. 

“Where’s Sally?” asked Alec, looking round. 

“I left her in the kitchen. She’s boiling the kettle for the hot water you wanted and then I asked her to make us all some tea.” There was a brief pause before Rollo added, “It’s not good is it?”

Alec shook his head silently. “I’ll need some help getting her into bed.”

“Right, you tell me what to do.”

Together they lifted the old woman, carrying her carefully through to the back of the sitting room where an archway led to a small back room, screened with a curtain. It was really a glorified porch, closed in with glass. Normally it would be filled with plant pots and delicate cuttings that needed careful tending. It would be used by people coming in from the garden, or to have tea on a rainy summer’s day when it was too wet to sit outside. However it had been furnished as a bedroom when Mrs Paston could no longer manage the stairs. As Alec and Rollo held her, the pungent odour of urine, released involuntarily, became more noticeable, overwhelming the scent of flowers coming in the open window from the garden. It was a final humiliation for the old woman, that basic control learned so many years before, now lost in illness.

“I’ll need to bathe her, and I’ll need a new nightdress for her once I’m done.”

“I’ll see how Sally’s coming along with that water you wanted,” said Rollo, and he exited the bedroom. 

Alec moved to the dresser and picked up the silver backed brush he found there. He checked the bristles – nice and soft. At least he could tidy Mrs Paston’s hair while he waited for the water. He returned to the side of the bed and began gently smoothing the thin white hair.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be all right now.” 

The platitudes slipped from his lips easily. They were the same words he said routinely to most his patients, part of the role he played with them, automatic and unthinking. A good bedside manner, they called it. Her scared eyes knew his words for a lie, and he realised this as he met her gaze. No, she wasn’t just another patient. She was a neighbour he’d greeted as he passed in the road, seen working in her garden, met in the local shops, helped to put washing on the line. The rose bush behind her house produced the flowers Colonna had used to decorate the house for tonight’s party. Mrs Paston deserved better than stock phrases learned in medical school. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Alec took one frail hand into his own and looked directly into her eyes. 

“I won’t leave you alone,” he said, “and I’ll make sure Sally is all right.”

A slight sound at the door disturbed, and Alec looked round. In the archway stood a fair-haired man, a slightly familiar figure, although Alec couldn’t quite place him. His youngish face looked tired. The black bag in his left hand identified him as the GP Sally had rung for earlier. He came forward towards the bed, right hand outstretched in greeting. 

“Hello, I’m Dr Anderson. I was told Mrs Paston had a fall.” 

Alec stood up, reaching out to shake hands, “I’m Dr Deacon. I live next door and I work at the hospital. Sally called me when she was told you’d be delayed.” Slight smiles and nods of professional acknowledgement passed between the two men. 

“Yes, I’ve seen you around once or twice when I’ve been at the hospital.”

“That’s right.” Alec recognised him now. Kit Anderson worked in the emergency ward once a fortnight, helping out because the hospital was so short-staffed due to the war. He had also recently referred a little girl to Alec’s ward for plastic surgery. He had a good reputation as a conscientious, thorough doctor.

Behind Kit appeared Rollo, carrying a large mixing bowl full of water. A facecloth and two towels were draped over one arm. He set the bowl down on the bedside table, and laid the towels on the bottom of the bed. Sally followed behind him, moving carefully, carrying a small tray with a teapot, cups and saucers. She placed this on a linen doily on the dresser. 

“Thank you Sally, that’s just what we need,” said Kit. “Your grandmother will need some privacy for my examination, and then, Dr Deacon and I will want to consult.”

The child nodded but still hesitated. 

“Your grandmother needs another nightdress, Sally. Could you please find one for her?” asked Alec.

Again Sally nodded, this time moving to the dresser where she selected a voluminous long white gown. Her fingers smoothed the lace trim on its collar before she laid it on the bed beside the towels Rollo had placed there. Then she bent to kiss the wrinkled old cheek on the bed before allowing Rollo to shepherd her from the room. Kit pulled the curtain firmly across the entrance after her and then turned to Alec with an enquiring air. 

“Massive stroke from the looks of it; her breathing’s impaired; motor control significantly affected on the left side. I wasn’t able to take her blood pressure as I don’t have the equipment with me. And of course, I have nothing to treat her with, either.” Alec was succinct and precise.

Kit opened his bag, took out the pressure cuff, and moved toward the bed. As he wrapped the cuff round an elderly arm, he too spoke soothing platitudes, until he looked into Mrs Paston’s pale blue eyes. She was a favourite patient of his, a strong-willed woman with a fiercely independent nature. She knew; he felt sure of it. After taking his time examining her, he sat back in the chair just beside her bed.

“I can’t do anything more than make you comfortable,” he said. “You could go to hospital, if you want. I don’t think it will make a difference though.”

A croaking noise came from the figure in the bed, the enunciation indistinct but nonetheless, the meaning clear. 

“Do you want Sally to sit with you?” Kit asked. “Or is there anyone else I should call?” 

He knew even as he said it, though, that Mrs Paston really just had her daughter-in-law and Sally; her son was away at sea. The movement from the bed was slight but definitely negative. As he expected, to the bitter end, this indomitable woman sought to protect her granddaughter. There really was just the one thing left.

Kit looked across at Alec, now perched on the other side of the bed. His eyebrow raised in quick query. Deliberately neither doctor spoke openly, nothing to be overheard through the curtain. There was a silent moment, as each tested the other’s resolve, before both nodded. Kit reached into his bag and retrieved a sedative. Alec reached for the bowl of water and picked up a cloth. In tandem they worked, each anticipating what the other would need. In reality, for all their skills, there was nothing to be done beyond basic nursing. 

The stroke was just hastening the inevitable. Underpinning it was the same old story: the elderly person whose world had gradually spiralled inward as her health deteriorated. No particular reason, no identified problems, no major illness; just the increasing frailty of a life running out, until some crisis, like the stroke, precipitated the final battle they were seeing now. Doctors were always called to treat the patient; doctors always prescribed; symptoms were alleviated. But the real enemy, the finite lifetime allotted to everyone, remained undefeated by modern medicine. In time of war, people associated death with bloody battles. Death’s greatest harbinger remained, however, old age.

Mrs Paston’s breathing sounded slow and laboured in the stillness of her bedroom. One side of her face was noticeably slack; a dribble of saliva ran from the corner of her mouth onto the pillow. Outside the window, the celebrations could still be heard coming from the garden next door. The party was starting to wind down now, as gradually people left for home, but a few actors were still occasionally raising cheers to their success. Julia’s voice rose clear and strong as she called from house to garden, asking Colonna if she wanted another drink. Colonna’s joy pierced the night like the ringing of a silver bell as she replied. Inside Mrs Paston’s bedroom, however, the air had a leaden quality. The clock on the mantel marked the slow passing of time as the two men watched. In the next room, successive games of cards masked the child’s vigil. Sometimes Sally won the points, sometimes Rollo. Ultimately though, both were waiting for death to play trumps. 

Presently, Kit sat forward and looked intently into Mrs Paston’s face, his eyes searching for signs. His fingers checked for a pulse at her neck, but it was pure formality. Already her face was taking on the fixed quality of death. He straightened and looked back at his colleague who had already risen and gone into the adjoining room to tell Sally. Kit turned back to the body, straightened the limbs gently and moved the head to lie straight; no need for the comfortable position now.

“But she can’t have gone!” 

A woman’s voice, made shrill and loud by unwelcome news, pierced the bedroom. 

“And why are _you_ here and not Dr Anderson? And who’s _this_?”

Kit went into the sitting room to find Sally’s mother had arrived home at last. Never any easy woman at the best of times, she had clearly been drinking. She had just arrived home to be told of her mother-in-law’s death and to find a stranger sitting with her daughter; it was bringing out the worst in her. 

“I am here, Maude,” said Kit. “I’m very sorry; I know this has come as a shock, but there really was nothing to be done. She had a massive stroke.”

“Well, if it was that bad then, why didn’t you send her to hospital?”

Sally intervened, this time. “She wouldn’t have wanted that, Mum. _You_ know. She always said she wanted to be in her own bed.”

“We’ll be going, now that you’re home. I will send round the certificate in the morning.” Kit turned back to the bedroom briefly to locate his bag before joining Rollo and Alec in the front hallway, where they were saying the usual polite condolences in farewell. The three men emerged from the darkened cottage hallway into a beautiful clear night, well-lit by a full moon. They paused briefly, each one taking deep breaths in relief. 

“I just need to collect my wife from next door’s party,” said Kit, “and then I’ll be off.”

“The theatre party?” Alec was surprised. 

Kit smiled, “Yes, my wife is one of the troupe. Christie still uses her maiden name for the stage.”

“I had no idea.” 

Next door, Colonna could be seen hovering on the doorstep with one of the party-goers. “There he is,” Christie said, “Kit, I’m here.” She waved to attract his attention. As he walked toward her up the path to the front step, she exclaimed, “Oh, dear, did I give you the wrong house number? I am dreadful that way. And you had to disturb them. I am sorry.”

Kit bent to kiss her lightly before explaining, “No, I was on a call, but I’m through now. Are you done here? Shall we go?”

He turned to shake Alec’s and Rollo’s hands briefly, nodded politely to Colonna, and then escorted Christie to his car, waiting by the curb. Without knowing much about them, Alec nonetheless thought them an incongruous couple: Christie, who looked like such a butterfly, clinging to the arm of this sensible medical man. 

“Are you staying the night, Rollo?” Colonna asked. “If you wanted to go, you should have cadged a lift with Christie and Kit. It’s getting rather late to be walking back to your digs.”

“If I may,” said Rollo. 

“I’ll get you some bedding, then; you can use the sofa.” 

The three of them turned into the house, stopping at door to the sitting room. It showed all the usual detritus associated with a successful party. 

“This won’t do,” Colonna sounded slightly shocked as she saw the wreckage. Ashtrays were overflowing and there were dirty glasses, plates and crumbs everywhere from the midnight feast. The air had a stale sour smell.

“You’d best have a corner of my bedroom floor,” said Alec. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” said Rollo. “I know you’re tired after a long night.”

“It’s the least I can do after the way you helped with Sally,” said Alec.

“Here,” he said, bending to pick up two of the seat cushions from the sofa and handing them to Rollo, before picking up two more. “We can use these to make up a pallet.”

Cushions in hand, the two made their weary way upstairs.


	5. Reputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec protects himself by 'passing' as heterosexual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 11/12/2008  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them   
> **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to Greer Watson for her expert beta-reading.

The office was untidy with papers. Extra chairs crowded what was really little more than an extra-large linen closet - hastily converted when the previous hospital director had left and his plush office was transformed into another operating theatre, needed because of the war. Major Ferguson’s desk was pushed into one corner; but he had turned his chair to one side so it faced into the room, rather than the wall behind the desk. Alec sat across from him. There was a brief uncomfortable pause before the Major spoke. 

“We’re just waiting now for Dr Anderson.”

“Dr Anderson?” queried Alec. 

“Yes, I asked him to join us, since the incident in question also involved him. I just had a message he would be a few more minutes; his afternoon surgery ran late. In the meantime, I suppose you should read this.” He proffered a letter. 

Alec read quickly. He frowned as he took in the letter’s contents, while the major looked increasingly uncomfortable as Alec read. It did not take long before he had finished and a stony silence reigned, interrupted only when a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in,” called the major. 

The door opened only part way, before bumping into a chair. Kit Anderson’s face appeared round the edge. His eyebrows raised as, at a glance, he took in the tense atmosphere. 

“Sorry, sir,” Kit said, “I didn’t realise you were still busy. I’ll just wait outside, shall I?”

“Not at all, Dr Anderson. Do come in,” said the major, firmly, getting up to move the chair obstructing the doorway. “I asked Dr Deacon to join us, since the complaint involves both of you.”

“Complaint?” Kit looked puzzled as he sat down.

“Perhaps you’d best let Dr Anderson have a look.” Major Ferguson nodded at the letter resting in Alec’s lap before he lifted his eyes back to Kit’s face. “That should explain things.”

Two sheets of flowered pink notepaper were passed across. As he took in the meaning of what he was reading, Kit's face became fixed in a pleasant, but carefully bland expression. There was a brief pause before he looked across at the major. 

“Yes, I see the difficulty. Quite an amazing letter, really. Such an imagination.”

The major cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I would have described it that way, myself. These are serious issues.”

“Yes, quite,” said Kit, “...although rather confused. The letter is not well written. I don't see why she wrote _you_ , though, of course, she is worried, and probably as confused as her letter. Gladys Paston was a patient of my practice, not this hospital. Nonetheless, I fully understand you would want to assure yourself about the matter since I also work here. Any hospital, quite rightly, has to consider its reputation.”

There was a brief pause as all three men absorbed Kit’s eminently reasonable statement. Its contrast with the tone of the letter was reassuring and positive. 

“Well, fire away,” Kit said. “What do you want to ask me? Mrs Paston was my patient after all, not Dr Deacon’s, for all he was there too.”

“Hmm, yes.” Major Ferguson’s own face was now also taking on a bland expression, the very mirror of the one on Kit’s face. “Perhaps we should start with that.” 

For several minutes, they settled into a comfortable case discussion about call out and symptoms, until Major Ferguson summed up the one substantive issue: “The question only arises, really, from your decision not to send the old lady into hospital.”

“Yes, but Mrs Paston’s granddaughter could confirm the patient did not want to go to hospital,” offered Alec.

“But she’s a child. It is never wise to rely too heavily on what a child might say,” returned the major. 

“Nevertheless, the family member who had been left in charge that evening - left by the same Maude Paston who wrote that letter,” countered Alec.

I suppose if the coroner ordered an autopsy they wouldn’t find anything untoward?” asked Major Ferguson. 

“I wouldn’t have thought an autopsy was called for in this case,” Kit intervened. His face was a mask of diplomacy. “Where, in all this, is there a question for the coroner to address? Elderly people die following strokes every year. _Two_ doctors were in attendance, and a certificate was issued in accordance with procedure.”

“There is still the question of why she was never sent to hospital, which her daughter-in-law wanted,” pointed out Major Ferguson.

“But she was not even there until after death had occurred,” Alec argued. 

Kit crossed his legs; the slight movement shifted the major’s attention his way. His hands rested in an open position on his lap, the letter propped on his knee.

“I agree it is unfortunate that Maude Paston was not present in the home and able to say her goodbyes to her mother-in-law before she died. The letter clearly shows she is emotionally distressed by the loss of so close a relative.” Kit’s tone of voice was calm as he nodded toward the offensive missive.

“However, as you know full well, sir, the timing of a stroke cannot be predicted. That same evening, on an earlier call, I attended another patient who had less severe symptoms. He was brought to this very hospital, with, sadly the same outcome. Hospital care, even at this excellent establishment, is no guarantee a patient will survive.”

“Hmm, yes, quite,” said the major. He sighed heavily before adding: “Well perhaps, in future, you’ll send all your patients. I really don’t have time to deal with this sort of question. Still, I can reassure Mrs Paston that I’ve reviewed the case history and am assured her relative had only the best of care, in accordance with established treatment guidelines.”

“Then I take it that everything you needed me for is now settled?” asked Kit, smiling his boyishly innocent smile equally at both men. “I’ll leave you two now, shall I?”

“Yes, thank you, Dr Anderson. Your clarifications have been most helpful,” said the major. “There are still one or two other matters I wish to discuss with Dr Deacon, but I do not think you need to be here for that. Thank you for assisting my enquiries, though. 

Once again, he tilted the chair out of the way of the door, while Kit laid the letter down on the corner of the desk before leaving. The tense silence resumed between Alec and the major after Kit left. Alec’s normally pleasant expression hardened to a kind of solemn determination.

“Well?” he prompted. “I gather from the fact you still want me here that you intend to ask about the other things in that letter.”

The major shifted in his chair looking uncomfortable once more. 

“She suggests you led an…” the major hesitated briefly before continuing, “immoral life before you started living with Matron Valentine.”

“I lived with Sandy,” Alec said shortly. 

“Sandy?”

“Sandy Reid. You should remember him; he was a year behind me in medical school. We shared digs. He died in the air raid that demolished the flat we were sharing, and I ended up moving in with Julia.

“Oh him! Is that who she means? Her description…” Major Ferguson’s voice trailed off as he looked again at the letter. He cleared his throat noisily. 

“Not quite how I remember him. Although I do recall a patient once made the most extraordinary gesture towards him while I was conducting rounds….” His voice trailed off for a moment; but then he said briskly, “still the man probably had a fever.” He looked up at Alec, meeting his eyes directly for the first time since the meeting had started. His expression was much lighter now. “I didn’t realise the two of you shared.”

“Yes,” said Alec.

“Nothing unusual in that,” said the major. “I myself shared in my own student days. The whole house was rented by medical students. A bit of a lark after finals…” He had a far-off look in his eyes as he recalled those heady days of youth. 

“I suppose you had a few too many parties…” Major Ferguson gave a little smile as he remembered one incident he and his friends had been hard pushed to keep from the landlady’s notice. “Yes, yes I see now. There is always one house everyone tends to go to….” 

Major Ferguson’s voice trailed off as he looked again at the letter. “It seems you might have got yourself a bit of a reputation as a ‘jack-the-lad’ from those times. Understandable, I suppose, but one really must be careful as a doctor, even when in training. Medical practice carries with it considerable responsibility, with high standards to uphold. One must always cultivate a good reputation.”

Alec’s smile was rather grim as he realised the irony of the picture the major was painting for himself: wine, women, and song. Yet it would serve to shield him - and all he need do was say nothing. Major Ferguson had found a more palatable version for himself than the letter’s allegations.

An abrupt knock interrupted the major’s musings. The door opened, banging sharply into the chair; and Julia’s head poked in.

“Alec? I was told you were here – that there was some problem. Is there anything I should know about?”

With that she pushed harder and shoved the chair out of the way. She entered briskly, and sat down squarely in front of Major Ferguson, before he even had the opportunity to rise.

“What’s happened?” she asked. “Alec, you look quite solemn.”

Alec nodded toward the desk. “Major Ferguson received a complaint about me.”

“A complaint?” Her eyebrows arched in query, Julia reached across for the letter. The major instantly looked uneasy. He had really never expected to have to share its contents with her. Julia read quickly, then placed the letter back precisely where she had found it, before looking Major Ferguson directly in the eye. 

“What a remarkably prurient mind Maude Paston has,” said Julia in a dry voice. “And such a flamboyant turn of phrase; it reads like some operatic melodrama.” 

The major cleared his throat noisily. Then he opened his mouth as if about to speak but said nothing. His gaze shifted to one side to encounter a knowing glint in Alec’s eyes. He was clearly at a loss what to do, his mind twisting as he debated how to speak the unspeakable in front of a woman. Difficult enough to talk frankly about such matters when it was just two men – impossible once a woman was added to the equation. 

Major Ferguson’s throat was cleared again. Another glance at Alec and he stiffened his resolve. Look at the expression on that young bounder’s face! It would be distasteful but he hoped he knew where his duty lay. Matron Valentine was such a conscientious woman. Sad, how many good women ended up with two-timing husbands. Once again he opened his mouth to speak.

“I wonder if this is slander,” mused Julia, “or is that libel, I mean?”

“What?” The major was clearly startled. “Sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to be rude.” His tone of voice was avuncular and condescending. “I don’t think you have fully appreciated the implications of that letter. I understand you are upset.”

“Upset,” said Julia. She lifted her chin slightly in a slow, deliberate gesture. “No,” she said firmly. “And I _do_ understand. Fully. First the letter says Alec is queer. Then, contradictorily, Alec is supposed to be presiding over orgies with women, even on the night Gladys Paston died. And finally it casts some quite nasty aspersions about a guest.” 

The words were blunt and uncompromising but her tone of voice was even and she phrased the objectionable words precisely. Major Ferguson’s eyes dropped and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew well how blunt some nurses could be, but he had never expected this from Matron Valentine. She always looked so refined and delicate. And she came from such a good family too.

“I don’t think we need really concern ourselves about the first issue,” he said hurriedly. “And you mustn’t worry. I never dreamed you would involve yourself in any impropriety. I have just explained to Dr Deacon he should be more careful of his reputation with women.” 

“Precisely what does that mean?”

“Well,” Major Ferguson shifted uneasily in his seat, and coughed slightly. “Perhaps it would be wise not to entertain quite so often. And no more visits from this... this...” There was a brief pause as Major Ferguson picked up the letter to look at it again. “… Colleen. Yes I should think that would suffice.”

“Colonna,” corrected Julia. “If she’s going to make wild accusations, the least Maude Paston can do is get the name right. Colonna’s an old friend of mine, not Alec’s. I met her when she was training as a nurse.”

“A nurse?” asked Major Ferguson, “but Mrs Paston seems to think…”

“Whatever she may think, Colonna and I met at my old hospital. You may check with them if you’d like.” Julia was very matter-of-fact. 

“A nurse….” The major sounded thoughtful now. “Visiting you? I _don’t_ suppose she would consider …?”

“She didn’t complete her training, I’m afraid. Nursing didn’t really suit her, “ said Julia. 

“Ah… hmm… pity. Still… even partly trained….” Thus spoke the hospital administrator perpetually struggling to run his chronically short-staffed establishment. 

“She’s part of that group that put on the show at the airbase last week.”

“Theatre people… and she was once a nurse... dear me.”

“I believe they are on a circuit of several towns and bases in this area, so I expect Colonna and the rest of the actors will be visiting quite often. 

“Hmm…” There was a pause while Major Ferguson absorbed this news. The thought of another letter from Maude Paston following another visit from the actors to Julia and Alec finally decided him. He looked directly at Alec. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any wedding planned soon, is there? That would certainly lay much of this to rest. _Perfectly_ acceptable for a respectably married couple to entertain a few friends…” His finger tapped the letter on the desk as he spoke, as if they all were not already fully focused on it.

Alec could feel his temper rising. This was _exactly_ the sort of hypocrisy he loathed. He gathered breath, about to speak, when he felt a cool small hand slip into his as it rested on his lap. He looked down to see Julia had threaded her fingers through his. Her grip had surprising strength. He shifted his gaze sideways and met her eyes. She shook her head slightly. 

“I have no intention of being rushed into a hasty wedding like some pregnant schoolgirl. That would hardly do my reputation any good.” Julia’s quiet voice held the ring of certainty and she spoke in a calm even tone. “Alec and I will make plans in our time - to suit what we want, not Maude Paston’s malice. Besides,” she spoke authoritatively, “I’m not planning to have children any time soon. I’m needed here as matron. There is no rush. Alec isn’t going overseas.” 

Alec gazed at her in admiration. It was a masterful reply. Not a word of a lie, yet the impression conveyed by their linked hands and her words was wholly misleading. 

The mention of children was a telling point. Since the war had started several nurses had married only to leave soon after, announcing they were pregnant. The hospital had struggled to replace them. Julia’s career had progressed rapidly with the shortage of fully qualified staff, leading to her rapid promotion to a position that, in peacetime, she would never have been considered for at such a young age. Whatever the major thought about Alec’s own dubious value as a relatively newly qualified doctor with questionable morals, _Julia_ was quite indispensible. She had just reminded Major Ferguson of all this quite neatly. Alec was uneasily conscious of his own contribution to the false picture Julia had painted; but nonetheless he lifted her hand to his lips in a salute to her quick thinking. 

Major Ferguson cleared his throat uneasily once more. “Yes, quite.” He was not sure how he seemed to have lost control of this meeting but since Julia had entered the room nothing had progressed quite as expected. Still, the matter seemed resolved now.

“Was there anything else? Because if there isn’t, I want to take Alec off shopping with me this afternoon. It isn’t all that often we are off shift together; and I need to find a birthday gift for his mother.” Julia’s smile was charming and the additional domestic detail was clearly reassuring. She stood up, tugging her hand free of Alec’s to hold it out to the major. Automatically his own hand rose in response as he stood up politely for her. Within seconds she whisked Alec out of the office.

Kit was waiting at the front entrance of the hospital, leaning against his car. He straightened on seeing them and opened the passenger door before slipping round to the driver’s side. 

“Get in,” said Julia and tugged Alec into the car after her. 

“It went all right then?” asked Kit, as he put the car in gear. 

“But I thought…” protested Alec. 

“Who do you think came and got me?” asked Julia. 

“It just seemed to me you might do well with some back-up, old chap,” said Kit. 

“She twisted Major Ferguson round her little finger.”

“It helps I was never his student, I think,” laughed Julia. She had shed her stern matron persona as she got into the car; and now she collapsed against Alec’s side, clutching his arm as a fit of giggles overtook her. “Oh, the look on his face as I picked up that letter!”

“Here you are.” Kit stopped the car outside the cottage. 

“Will you come in for a cup of tea?” Julia asked. 

“No I mustn’t stop, else I’ll be late for evening surgery.” 

Kit did not get out of the car, but spoke from through the open window. Standing at the curb, Alec bent his head until he could see into the car clearly and offered his hand. To his relief it was grasped without hesitation. 

“Thank you; I owe you.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Kit. “If you could take the roofs off every one of these houses and look inside you would find secrets in each one. Yours is just one more.”


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further insights into relationships between the couples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 24/03/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to Queen Ypolita for contributing Rollo’s book. As always, my sister Greer’s expert editing made this story better.

Replete from a good meal, Alec stretched out on the grass, his arms pillowing his head. He had chosen a place apart from the rest of the group. The slight incline provided a clear view of a beautiful pastoral scene: England at its best, far cry from the crowded grim wards he saw daily in the busy city hospital. Alec felt knots slowly loosening as he basked in the sun. He’d grown so used to feeling tense he barely noticed anymore. Julia had decided it was a good day to pick blackberries that grew at the edge of some woods a mile or so from her cottage. Resistant at first, he had felt bullied by her insistence he join them. 

“It’s not good the way you’ve been holed up inside the last couple of weeks. So Maude Paston made a complaint. You can’t let that push you into hibernation.” 

Julia had been nothing if not forthright. 

“I thought you were the one who kept saying ‘tell the world and damn them all’. Sheer funk, that’s all this is.” 

She had made all the arrangements, organising a picnic, inviting the Andersons to join them, scheduling their days off from hospital, and ringing Colonna to check when she was due to return. Julia really was a born manager.

Fortuitously, the weather had turned quite perfect. It was a lovely warm afternoon, one of those fine autumn days that can be more summery than August. Even weather gods bowed in homage to Julia’s organisational skills. All the women wore light gauzy dresses. The men had long since discarded shirts; even vests had felt hot and confining in the middle of the day. 

Before lunch Kit and Alec had conferred about medical techniques while systematically stripping branches of their sweet burden. Julia and Colonna had wandered off together. Their half-empty basket and stained mouths had born witness to their distraction when they’d later rejoined the rest of the group. To Alec’s surprise Rollo Baines had come. He remembered him from the party a few weeks ago. Rollo had paired up with Christie who had chattered like a jackdaw. The Andersons had brought their daughter, a happy curly haired toddler. The child had run back and forth between her parents. Christie had done more playing than picking, while Rollo had worked methodically. At midday, the shrubs bare of harvest, they stopped for lunch. Rollo had proved entertaining, telling a witty story about the company’s recent tour. His humour had contained shrewd observation about the foibles of humanity.

Now that he was on his own, Alec fished in his trouser pocket and brought out the letter that had arrived that morning. He’d ripped it open as soon as he’d seen it lying on the doormat, scanning it eagerly. But there had been little time in the rush to get ready for the outing. In the end he’d brought it with him, hoping for a quiet moment to read it more carefully. Ralph’s distinctive handwriting comforted. As usual it was long and informative, full of detail about life with Laurie and their plans for the future, as well as straightforward advice. 

“I understand your distaste at the stratagem,” Ralph wrote, “but it saved your career. Let the rest of the world think what it will, as long as you remain true to yourself. That is what really matters, particularly when we are at war. We are fighting against a regime that would strip us of all choice. We need all the doctors we have for the battles to come.” Folding the letter carefully, Alec put it safely back in his pocket. It would join others Ralph had sent him over the years, fewer than there would have been, had his flat not been bombed. He treasured the friendship demonstrated in Ralph’s words. 

Looking up he saw Rollo, walking over. He wasn’t tall but he stood tall, holding himself in a way that called eyes to him, demanding attention without fanfare. Alec supposed it must be a useful quality for the stage. It reminded him a bit of the way Ralph commanded attention when he entered a room, yet physically they bore no similarity. Rollo’s dark hair was the antithesis of Ralph’s; he had a wiry build, long mouth and no more than average good looks. 

“Mind if I join you? I brought the rest of the ginger beer.”

“Pull up a piece of grass, old chap.”

Rollo sat and rested his chin on hands propped on his knees. He looked calm and relaxed and sat quietly, saying nothing despite having taken the initiative to join Alec. Perhaps he wanted the rest, Alec thought. After lunch he’d played with the Anderson’s daughter. Her chuckles had been infectious as she’d ridden Rollo like a pony, and he had laughed loudly too, but it must have been tiring. She was still giggling, this time in response to being tickled by her father. Perhaps that was why Rollo had come over, needing a break from the child’s enthusiasm. Alec had enjoyed being alone. Now, however, he felt compelled to conversation. 

“You were very good with the little girl, earlier,” Alec offered. 

“I’ve known her since she was born,” said Rollo. 

“Oh?” Alec said. “I didn’t realise you knew the Andersons before the war.”

“Yes, Christie and I both worked for the same theatre group. I met Kit through her, of course, but I really got to know him when he attended an acting workshop.”

“I had no idea he acted.”

“Every day of his life, though he wouldn’t phrase it that way. You do too – just on a smaller stage than the theatre, and for different reasons.”

Alec felt startled. He wondered if Rollo was speculating because he shared with Julia. Or perhaps Kit had said something? But no, he was a doctor; one thing they all shared was discretion. Even Sandy, for all his love of gossip, had known better than to betray a confidence. Baffled, he chose to ignore the comment, studiously concentrating instead on clouds, puffy and white, high above. 

“You are discreet in public, but the signs are there for one who wants to see.”

“ _Wants_ to see?”

“Only if you want to hear it,” Rollo responded, “that is, if you want _me_ to.”

Alec shifted his head so he could see Rollo more fully. His change in position was only slight, easy to miss if he were not closely observed. His movements were outwardly lazy; inwardly Alec was far from relaxed. But the turn of his head allowed him full view of the man beside him. On the surface Rollo looked confident and assured but slight signs of tension were there nonetheless: hands held rather too still, a pulse beating just a little too rapidly. This overture held some special meaning. On the ground rested a book, half hidden by Rollo’s shirt. _Despised and -_ Alec could not read the rest of the title; he did not need to. Before the air raid he too had owned a copy. 

To his chagrin, Alec now understood how much he had overlooked. Julia had been right after all: ‘self-absorbed brooding’ had been one of her politer phrases. And Ralph: one simply needed to go on. It wasn’t just the complaint that had troubled; he’d been looking back since Sandy died, second-guessing everything. Alec focused now on the man patiently waiting in front of him, a man the Andersons trusted with their precious daughter, the man who organised entertainment for all the military bases in the southwest. Keeping that going must call on considerable ingenuity in wartime. He remembered Rollo’s sensitivity and help the night of the party, qualities he had taken for granted at the time. This man – reliable, responsible, and, it now seemed, interested. 

Again his eyes searched the face in front of him, but this time, after a moment, Alec smiled and sat up. 

“I’ll have some more of that ginger beer.”

Rollo poured, then held out the cup. Deliberately, as he took it, Alec let his fingers lightly caress Rollo’s. 

“You should be careful,” remarked Rollo, “lying here in this bright sun. You’ll burn.”

“We’d best move then, and find somewhere more sheltered.”

As they stood up, Julia’s voice reached them. “I’m heading back now, Alec. Mic said he’d arrive this afternoon, and I need to be there when he arrives.” 

He nodded. “I’ll see you later.” 

As he moved toward the coppice at the edge of the clearing where they’d picnicked, Alec glanced at the trim figure walking confidently beside him. Rollo was slightly older, a mature man. Presumably he knew what he wanted. He realised he was likewise being observed. The implications warmed. Alec lifted his chin slightly; an almost imperceptible swagger lengthened his stride. Rollo passed through the gate at the edge of the clearing, then held it open for Alec. As he let go, his hand ventured a brief caress on Alec’s shoulder, before they moved off again, passing into the wood.

“I never thought to see Rollo _with_ anyone,” remarked Christie somewhat plaintively as she watched the pair leave.

“Why not?” said Kit. “It’s not as if he hasn’t had opportunities, particularly amongst theatre people.”

“That’s my point,” Christie said. “He’s had so many chances - from men _and_ women - and turned down all the offers. Why now? What can he see in Alec? He’s so… so… sober and respectable.”

“You might as well ask what you see in _me_ : sober and respectable. Not the exciting or imaginative man you could have dancing attendance on you.”

“Oh darling,” Christie cried, petting his knee, “but I wouldn’t have you any different! I do _need_ you to be just the way you are.”

Kit thought that very likely was true, notwithstanding the fact Christie probably didn’t mean it quite the way she said it. 

“I miss you quite _desperately_ each time I go away. You are my bedrock.” 

She snuggled close to him and dropped a little kiss on his cheek. Their little girl rested on the grass to his other side. In the way of very young children, one minute she had been running around with seemingly boundless energy, the next she had fallen asleep. Kit returned Christie’s kiss a little absently, as he watched his daughter Milly. She made everything worthwhile; he was continually astonished at the depth of his feeling for her. He had loved her from the first moment he had seen her. He still shuddered to think she might have been born without him knowing, had Christie gone away without telling him as she had once planned. Fortunately she had been as haphazard in this as in most of her life, seeming not to realise that as a doctor he would understand the rhythm of her body. The pregnancy had precipitated both the sale of his partnership shortly before the war and the move to Bridstow - somewhere he wasn’t already known, somewhere large enough they could blend in. Somewhere no one would have heard of his wife. 

“Do you regret it, Kit?” asked Christie in a small voice. 

Startled, he glanced at her. She had been watching him as he watched the child, lost in thought. 

“Why do you ask that? Have I ever given you cause to worry?”

“No,” admitted Christie, “but you see I do know how loyal you are – how you were with Janet. You’d never tell me. And she’s .…” Christie’s voice trailed off as she gathered her courage. “She’s not perfect. I couldn’t even give you a normal child.” 

Kit’s eyes softened as he looked at Christie’s distressed face. For all her flightiness, she was the most loving of creatures and openly adored her daughter, never stinting time with her, openly missing her any time she toured. For her to ask such a question, and in such a way, meant she must have had doubts for some time. 

“A harelip can be corrected. She is perfect in every way that counts.”

He drew Christie closer in his arms and kissed her soundly. 

“Without you, I would never have had any daughter. With you I have been blessed.”

Satisfied, Christie rested her head on his chest, sighed with contentment, and dozed off. Kit sat cradling her against him, while stroking the soft hair of the child resting beside him. His mind emptied of everything save the moment, peaceful and fulfilling. Times like this came all too rarely. 

In the distance Kit could hear noise from a steam tractor as a nearby field was plowed for winter sowing. A flock of birds passed overhead on their way south for winter. Sunshine disappeared behind clouds, and goose bumps appeared on Christie’s arms as the heat of the day began to wane; he covered her with his shirt and checked to make sure his daughter wasn’t cold. His arm, where Christie lay, went quite numb, but he made no movement to shift her weight. This was time to be savoured; Kit, of all people, knew there were no guarantees. 

At the edge of the field he saw an old man walking his dog head toward the copse. The retriever bounded ahead barking noisily. It was chasing something. A few minutes later he saw Rollo and Alec emerge from the woods and cross over the field heading toward where he sat. They walked in unison, their steps even and pace unhurried. Kit gave Christie’s shoulder a little shake, rousing her. She blinked a little with confusion until she remembered where she was, then woke Milly. It was time to go home.


	7. What Came Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mic joins the household precipitating a crisis for Colonna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 24/03/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Note:** This story immediately follows the events in “Interlude”, posted earlier today.  
>  **Warning:** Character deaths recounted (Jan Lingard, Vivian Lingard)  
>  **Acknowledgements:**  
>  (1) The 2008 ‘In Their Own Words’ series included questions about Mic and Vivian’s relationship. Queen Ypolita provided one excellent answer. At the time, I remarked that my vision of what happened between them was somewhat different in detail, although not in spirit. This gives my version.  
> (2) The book Mic reads from is _the Tale of Peter Rabbit_ by Beatrix Potter (first published 1902).  
>  (3) The poem Mic quotes is by AE Housman. It is No. VII of the “Additional Poems” published in _Collected Poems_ in 1939.  
>  (4) Last, but not least, many thanks to my sister Greer for her masterful editing.

Alec found himself waving at the Andersons' daughter Milly after he was dropped off at home. She called ‘bye-bye’ and waved. He grinned and automatically returned the gesture as the car pulled away from the curb. He could see Rollo behind her, nodding his head and smiling. Alec’s farewell included him too, but it was Milly’s infectious joy he openly responded to. It had been, all round, a very satisfying afternoon. He would not let the twitching curtains next door spoil it.

Alec walked slowly up the garden path noticing things he’d missed earlier: bright pink asters and the way the poppies had gone to seed. The last time he remembered really looking, the poppies had been in bloom and the asters hadn’t even had buds. He’d missed a lot over the last few weeks. There was a rustling sound overhead and an apple fell to the ground. Alec stopped to pick it up, held it to his nose, and sniffed deeply. Worcester Pearmain – his favourite; it was the first of the season. There would be plenty to gorge on for a couple of weeks, and then they would be over for another year. 

He wondered where they all would be in a year’s time. The war news was so dismal. Old men in the wards kept bringing up stories of the last war – some even the Boer War - but all with gloomy prognostications about how much bad news was being censored. So many had died in those early air battles; it was hard to believe that was two years ago. Now people talked about battles in North Africa for towns with strange and unpronounceable names, the best of which seemed indecisive (no matter what spin newspapers put on it), the worst of which was clear catastrophe. Everyone was speculating rationing would be tightened. It all boded ill. Their own little garden had yielded a nice crop, much of which was now stored safely in the cellar for later use. He trusted they wouldn’t be their only supplies this winter, though he knew people like Ralph were doing all they could to keep supply lines open. Alec sniffed the apple again before stuffing it into his pocket. They wouldn’t store this crop. Worcesters weren’t for keeping.

The key turned easily in the lock, but Alec was only able to push the front door open half way before it stopped against a box that had been left in the entranceway. The hallway held another box, plus two suitcases. Clearly Mic had arrived. 

“Hello!” he called. 

“In here.” It was Colonna’s voice, coming from the sitting room. It sounded flat, and somehow odd, jarring after such a wonderful day.

Looking into the room he saw her sitting on the footstool by the fireplace, mug in hand. She was facing the wingchair where a little boy was curled. She looked somewhat nonplussed. Alec hadn’t realised a child was moving in too, though perhaps he wasn’t staying.

“Who is this?” asked Alec. 

“Jan,” said Colonna. “Mic and Vivian’s son. Vivian called him Jan, after her brother.” She paused a moment before adding, “He looks a lot like him.”

The little boy’s eyelashes were spiked with tears and the skin under his eyes had that bluish tinge of exhaustion. A dribble ran from his nose to his mouth. His lower lip drooped in a sulky unhappy curve. His hands clutched a battered teddy bear as his lifeline to the familiar. He sat awkwardly in the chair, his head tilted to the left, resting in the corner created by the chair back and its wing. He was silent, but this was clearly the quiet acquiescence of a child too tired to protest any more, rather than the contented acceptance of safety and security. He looked a little older than Milly Anderson, but Alec thought the difference went further than just age. She had clearly been happy; this was a waif.

“I didn’t realise you knew the whole family,” said Alec. “Julia just said you knew Mic’s wife.”

“I met her brother once,” said Colonna. 

“Just once? He left quite an impression then, for you to remember just what he looked like.”

“Yes.”

“Does he live nearby? Will he be round to visit?”

“No, he’s dead. Both Jan and Viv. It’s just Mic and the boy now.”

“I didn’t realise Mic was bringing a child with him.”

“Neither did we. He was planning to settle in and find a place for the two of them before he went back to get Jan. Only, in the end, the people taking care of him couldn’t keep him any longer, so Mic brought him instead.”

“Where’s Julia?”

“She’s gone out with Mic. They needed to get a few things quickly before the shops closed.” 

Alec nodded. He could see the dilemma. Leaving a tired child alone with someone strange to him was hardly ideal, but Mic would be needed at the shop because he held the ration-book. And Julia had to go too, because Mic wasn’t registered there. As a regular customer, well-known and trusted, she could vouch for Mic; goods otherwise not on the shelves might miraculously become available. Still, Colonna was not, to his mind, the best person to take care of a little boy.

During this exchange the child had sat quiet and unmoving, watching them both. It was not a good sign. Alec had been leaning against the doorframe, half-in and half-out of the room. Now he came fully inside and kneeled on the floor in front of Jan, so the child could look down at him without feeling threatened. 

“Are you hungry?” 

There was a hesitant nod from the solemn face.

“Let’s find you something to eat then, shall we?” 

Alec moved to the kitchen, the child following, teddy-bear held tightly in his arms. Sugar should do it, he thought. All children liked something sweet. He rummaged in the cupboard for the strawberry jam. A minute later he handed the child a small slice of bread. He’d piled the jam high, not the usual meagre scraping they made do with nowadays. The excess dripped down the child’s fingers as he ate; nothing wrong with his appetite at least. A second slice disappeared almost as quickly as the first.

The front door slammed as Julia called out, “We’re back!”

“We’re in the kitchen.” 

Colonna beckoned them into the room. This time she was the one leaning against the doorframe, while Alec sat facing the child. He had joined Jan and sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with his own slice of bread and jam. Two legs appeared beside them and hands reached down. Alec watched as a thin man with untidy dark hair picked up the little boy. 

“May I have a bite too, Jan?” Mic asked gently. He cuddled his son in his arms and licked his sticky fingers. 

“Mmmn, boy and jam. My favourite.”

“Daddy,” The child rubbed his head against Mic’s shoulder, limp and trusting. Now that his body had relaxed, Alec realised just how rigidly the boy had held himself.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs to bed. Shall I read you a story?”

There was a brief glance of acknowledgement thrown to Alec, as Mic picked up the toy bear and tucked it against his son. He then turned and carried the child out. Their voices trailed back as they ascended to the attic. Julia followed carrying parcels from their last minute shopping. Alec sighed. He’d better help with the boxes. 

The smaller box weighed heavily; it was the one that had acted as doorstop earlier. He pushed it back against the wall; he would come down for it in a bit. The larger box, while somewhat unwieldy, was actually quite light. On reaching the top of the attic stairs, Alec paused briefly just inside the door to the room where the new arrivals would be staying. Mic was busy with his son, helping him change out of travel-soiled clothes. Julia waved Alec towards an archway that led from the back into another smaller room. It was little more than a cubbyhole, and already pretty full with odds and ends. He and Julia had cleared out of the front part of the attic the other week, in anticipation of Mic’s arrival. He found a corner for the box and turned to go back for more, only to find his way blocked by Julia who had bustled in after him. She tugged urgently at the top of the box, failing to open it. 

“Can you get it open, Alec?” she asked. “Mic says the extra nappies are in there.”

“Nappies?” Alec was surprised. “Surely his son isn’t that young?”

“Doctors,” Julia’s tone mocked tenderly. “You only _treat_ children; those who _care_ for them know boys his age aren’t dry at night.” 

Obediently, Alec ripped the top open, then left her looking while he made his way back to the stairs. He met Colonna coming up with the smaller box; she was almost at the top and clearly struggling under its weight.

“That one’s too much for you; let me take it.” 

Alec reached down to pull it from Colonna’s arms just as she reached the top. It was a mistake; her balance was too precarious, and she stumbled. The box slipped from both their hands as Alec reached out to steady her. It tumbled back down to crash on the landing halfway down. 

“Are you all right?” Alec checked her anxiously. He blamed himself. He ought to have brought the heavy box up first; then Colonna would never have tried it. 

“Fine, thanks.”

Dismayed, they both looked back down at the landing where the box now rested, split open from the fall. It had been full of books, now strewn across the floor of the landing. Alec stepped down quickly to the mess; Colonna followed more slowly, stooping to pick up a silver frame that had come to rest against the left banister. It held two photographs in oval mounts. The glass had cracked clear across the woman’s face. She paused, bemused by the picture. A few steps below, Alec stacked books methodically. He reached round Colonna’s legs for the last one, open and askew on one stair. Loose papers had fallen out. As Alec tried to straighten them he realised they weren’t properly part of the book, but two envelopes tucked inside. ‘To Mic’ was printed neatly on the face of the larger envelope; it didn’t look as if the seal had ever been broken. The other was addressed: ‘To Jan – for when he is older’. Tucking them back inside the book he handed it up to Colonna who was still staring at the photograph. 

“Here, take this one downstairs with you,” he said. “I’ll take this lot up to the attic. Don’t worry about the rest of their things; I’ll fetch them up in a few minutes.”

Nodding silently, Colonna continued downstairs. Alec didn’t think he had ever seen her so subdued. Normally she was quite irrepressible. It took two armloads to carry the books up to the attic, before he went back down for the suitcases. When he came upstairs with the last load, Mic was sitting on the bed, his arms around the sleepy little boy in pyjamas, teddy bear propped against him, reading. 

_“Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in excitement, and implored him to exert himself.”_

“There he is - see - on his side.” Mic used a bear paw to point to the illustration.

Julia followed Alec as he left the attic, accompanying him down the stairs. 

“Mic will be down once he’s got Jan to sleep. It won’t be long; he’s very tired.”

Entering the kitchen they found Colonna sitting at the table, chin propped on her hands. The hinged picture frame stood squarely in the middle of the table. The book rested beside it with both envelopes on top. Colonna’s gaze was firmly fixed on the photographs.

“What a lovely wedding photo,” remarked Julia. “Vivian looks quite beautiful.”

“Yes, she positively glowed all through her pregnancy; I never saw her look so well before.” 

There was a pause while Julia filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove. The canister on the counter was empty. Alec rummaged in the pantry for a new packet of tea, without success. 

“Julia, where did you put the tea?”

“The shop didn’t have any again.”

“Damn, that’s three weeks in a row. We’re completely out now.”

“I’ll get some mint from the garden; we’ll use that instead.” 

Julia pulled a cardigan round her shoulders and went out the back door, kitchen scissors in hand. Alec propped himself against the pantry door and looked at Colonna, who was still staring silently at the picture. He could have sworn she’d not moved an inch. 

“Who’s the other picture of? It’s not Mic.” Alec asked.

“No, Mic was photographer. It’s Vivian’s brother.” 

“The one they named their son for?” 

“Yes. He just looks so _alive_ in this picture – they both do.”

“How did he die?”

Colonna closed her eyes briefly before answering. 

“He was dying. He knew it. So he finished himself off. He didn’t want to linger.”

Colonna looked up, straight into Alec’s eyes. She looked stark. 

“Vivian was the same. She had cancer and they said the next operation would leave her unable to manage on her own. She’d need constant care. So she ended it.” 

There was a long pause before she spoke again. 

“I used to think….” 

Her voice trailed off. Alec didn’t know what to say, faced with an introspective Colonna. Where was the lively girl who, while sometimes a bit irritating, could be counted on to be life and soul of any party? To avoid having to say anything, he turned around to pull a loaf out of the breadbox, found the knife, and began slicing it for toast. Despite this activity, he still found himself concentrating on what was happening behind him, straining to hear as she muttered to herself. 

“I’d forgotten…too young….”

He heard a scraping sound as a chair was pushed back and turned round just in time to see the tip of Colonna’s dress disappear into the hallway. A moment later he heard the front door open and shut. Almost simultaneously, the back door opened. Julia returned, mint in one hand, a small basket of freshly picked mushrooms in the other. 

“Where’s Colonna?” she asked. 

“I think she’s gone out. She looked upset. Julia, I’ve never seen her that way before.”

“It’s seeing the picture.”

“I thought you said she thought her friend made the right decision.”

“It won’t be Viv’s death. Well,” she said, re-examining events even as she spoke, “I suppose it might be. But I think it was seeing the brother’s picture. It will have brought it all back to her. 

“Yes, she did say something about him.”

“She was the nurse on duty when Jan died. He’d been in a dreadful motoring accident. She was told to sit with him, but left him alone when she shouldn’t have. He wasn’t supposed to move, but he must have needed something. Anyway, by the time she got back he was dead. There was a stink about it and afterward she left nursing. She’d have left anyway; she never could deal with death. It was just the final straw.”

Alec nodded. There were people like that. You were better off not being a doctor or nurse if you had trouble like that. While they had been talking, Julia had brushed the mushrooms clean and started to slice them. Now she pushed the cutting board toward him. 

“Here. I’d best go after her. Don’t wait supper for us.” 

Without pause, Alec took over slicing mushrooms, before looking out the frying pan and a little fat saved from the last time they’d had bacon. He wouldn’t start the actual cooking until he heard Mic come downstairs; he’d just get everything ready. Mushrooms didn’t take long to cook. He made himself a drink before sitting down at the table to wait. They were getting low on gin too; he grimaced as he took his first sip and gave his glass a hard look: far too much tonic. Still it was the best he could do until he could scrounge another bottle.

“Thanks for your help earlier.”

Startled Alec looked up. Mic was hovering in the doorway. He must have a very soft step to have come downstairs so quietly. Alec pushed back his chair and stood, reaching out his hand in welcome. It was grasped briefly but firmly. You could tell a lot from a man’s handshake; this one sent a message of trustworthiness. 

“Hello, I’m Alec, Julia’s cousin.”

“I guessed as much. Thanks for getting Jan some food.”

“It was the least I could do. Look – fix yourself a drink,” said Alec gesturing toward the bottles he’d left on the table. He turned away briefly to get another glass from the cupboard.

“Are mushrooms on toast all right for you?” He called back over his shoulder.

“Yes, fine – what’s this?”

Alec approached the table, glass in hand. Mic had taken the same chair Colonna had sat in earlier; he held up the two envelopes.

“They were in the box that split open – actually in a book.”

“A book?”

“Yes, in that book,” Alec replied, nodding at the leather-backed volume on the kitchen table. “They fell out when I was collecting the books.”

Mic turned the book over. Gold lettering on the dark blue cover proclaimed it a copy of Dickens’ _Hard Times._ He tore open the envelope; it held one sheet of notepaper along with bank notes. He lay the money to one side and unfolded Vivian’s letter. Alec watched a tear slip quietly down from the corner of one eye as he read. Mic said nothing when he finished – just folded the letter again and put it in one of his trouser pockets. Then he picked up the notes again, counting them carefully, before spreading them out on the table. He collected them together and laid them out again, in a different pattern, and then again. It was as if he were dealing a pack of cards for patience. 

“That’s a lot of money; best keep it safe,” said Alec. 

“Do you think so?” Mic’s voice had a hollow, empty sound. “It’s not that much really. Twenty weeks; that’s all.”

Alec cocked his head to one side. Abandoning the thought of cooking, he sat down in the chair across the table from Mic. His eyes followed as Mic’s fingers dealt the money yet again. 

“There was a time, you know, when we had no money. We made a joke of it and said we’d keep some in _Hard Times_ ; then if they really came, we’d always have something to fall back on. We saved up gradually until we could each put £5 in the book. It seemed a positive fortune at the time. We took it out and went on a spree the day I finally got a decent paying job.”

Alec’s forehead creased in a slight frown as the penny dropped. All the notes passing through Mic’s restless hands were £5 notes.

“Twenty weeks. That’s all she had between when they found the second lump and when she died. She must have started collecting right away. A fiver a week, one by one, putting it away for me – for Jan. She made her plans and she never _told_ me. Not till right at the end.”

Alec sat quietly; he didn’t really know this man. They had only just met. Yet, clearly he was close to the end of his tether. He knew all he could do was stand witness. 

“How can I...?” Mic asked. 

It was clearly a rhetorical question. Mic drew his hands down over his face. Hands – Mic’s were slim with long fingers. Alec found himself focussing on them with what he recognised was a peculiar intensity. What hands said of a person: Mic had one ragged nail and he had clearly been biting his cuticles – over and over from the looks of them. His fingers shook with emotion. 

After a long pause, Mic looked across the table, straight into Alec’s eyes, pinning him with direct gaze. Alec felt rather like the wedding guest bespelled, as Mic recited:

_“He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?_  
He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.  
I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,  
And went with half my life about my ways.” 

Again Alec had no notion what to say in the face of such raw emotion. Evidently those around her had accepted Vivian’s decision as the right one, but not without some cost to themselves. 

He looked down at his own hands. They were slightly scratched from picking brambles in the morning. Earlier in the day he had watched as his hands expertly caressed Rollo. He remembered the beauty of Rollo’s hands as they trembled with reciprocal passion. A while back his hands had spread jam on bread for Jan; now a few crumbs clung to them from the bread he had been slicing. His were well-kept hands, reliable hands, calm and confidant hands – hands living the life they were suited for, living a full life. Watching the man in front of him come apart at the seams reinforced how much he had to be thankful for, notwithstanding the malice of that bitch who lived next door. 

But this man who quoted poetry, sitting before him - what could he possibly say? Slowly Alec reached into his pocket to retrieve the apple he’d placed there earlier. He polished it to a fine shine before offering it to the man sitting across from him. 

“As a very dear friend recently said to me: one just goes on.”


	8. Early One Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More insights into the deepening of Julia's relationship with Colonna and Alec's relationship with Rollo, focusing on changes developing from Colonna discovering she is pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 12/06/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Note:** References are made to two of Churchill’s speeches, one made to the House of Commons on 4th June 1940 and the other made to Harrow School on 29th October 1941.  
>  **Acknowledgements: (1)** Thank you to everyone who helped me discover when Alec’s birthday party took place. **(2)** Once again, thanks are due my sister Greer for her masterful beta-reading.

Alec woke to a dark cold room and pressing need. He listened carefully for noises. It _should_ be safe enough just to dash. Reluctantly he pulled back the covers and ventured a toe onto the chilly floor. He shivered; whose idea had it been to leave the window open a crack? The wind had picked up in the night and was now gusting through the narrow opening. It was just getting too cold each night – fresh air be damned. He reached past the curtains to grab the window handle and pull it shut. The blast of cold air up his arm decided him, and he shrugged on his dressing gown before going to the bathroom. He moved from memory, not putting on any lights. The sound of the toilet flushing was loud in the still of a sleeping household.

Quickly he returned, shed his robe, and ducked back under the bedcovers. He felt himself drawn into Rollo’s embrace again; lovely warm skin-on-skin. Snuggling back to front, he rested his feet on Rollo’s legs. 

“Bloody hell! Is that any way to treat a lover?” 

“Sorry, they were cold.” 

“ _Were_ cold!”

Alec smiled at the mock censure, basking in the real warmth of acceptance that exuded from the man at his back, who, despite his protest, tucked Alec’s feet more closely into the crevasse between his legs to warm them. 

“Remind me to get you some bed socks,” grumbled Rollo. 

“They’re not very romantic.”

“And cold feet _are_?”

“I can make it up to you.”

But a small snore sounded in his ear; Rollo had already settled back into sleep. They really did need the rest; it had been a late night, and both had early morning starts. Alec tucked his nose down into the covers and drifted off again. 

He woke later to the sound of the front door slamming. Christ that was loud! Even Mic must have heard it in the attic. A ray of watery sunshine shone through a gap in the curtains; even it was too bright for his bleary eyes. Alec turned away from it, rolling to his back to look at the man behind him. Rollo lay on his side, head propped on one elbow, smiling down at him. His hair was still dishevelled from their night together. Alec reached up to stroke his cheek; morning stubble prickled his fingers.

“Good morning sleepyhead. I thought that might wake you.”

“Colonna again?”

“Yes,” answered Rollo. “I’ve been listening to them bickering for the last twenty minutes.”

Alec grimaced. “Damn, I knew it couldn’t last, but I just hoped for Julia’s sake. She’s only tough on the surface, you know.”

Rollo nodded but just said, “I’d best get up.”

“Are you going after her?” asked Alec. 

“She is part of my troupe. I can’t have her running off somewhere in a sulk so she misses the train. Sorry, Alec, I know it isn’t much of a birthday morning for you, but we always knew I’d have to leave early today.” 

Alec nodded. In synchronisation both men pushed back the covers and got out of their respective sides of the bed. Alec pushed back the curtains to let in daylight and opened the window slightly to air the room. He turned back to see Rollo watching intently; it was such a shame they had no time to act on that glint in his eye. 

“Damn Colonna for interfering with my day.” 

But there was no real heat in Rollo’s comment. As a leader he accepted it was his responsibility to sort out these kinds of messes. If it wasn’t one thing, it would be another. Quickly, he finished dressing, and collected his overnight bag, before crossing to Alec and giving him a hug.

“Happy Birthday, my dear. I’ll be back in three weeks for your party.”

Alec turned his head, demanding a kiss, before letting Rollo pull back from their embrace. He turned away to stare out the window while listening to the bedroom door close and Rollo’s footsteps down the landing. The bathroom door opened and shut. It wasn’t long before it opened again. This time he heard Rollo go down the stairs and out the front door. Alec strained to hear; Rollo’s steps were so soft and quiet. Unlike Colonna, his leaving held no drama. Neither man was the type to make a scene about the inevitable departure: an actor toured; and that was that. However, just as much as Julia, Alec felt bereft. How had this man become so essential to his being in such a short time? 

The window looked into next door’s deserted garden. Already it started to look neglected. No one came out in it now Mrs Paston had died, except to hang out washing. Dead flower heads adorned the butterfly bush; the ivy was starting to encroach on the windows, and long ragged spikes of foxgloves long since gone to seed pointed to a garden no longer carefully tended. It had once been her pride and joy, the showpiece of their local community. Now, it was clearly missing the love she had lavished on it, just as he missed Rollo’s love when they couldn’t be together. 

Alec _felt_ like throwing something each time circumstances came between them. He didn’t of course, but this feeling…. Was this how Sandy had felt? So… off-balance, so vulnerable. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d lived with Ralph, and he’d been younger then, and heedless in the blithe confidence of falling really in love for the first time. Now he knew how chancy life could be – especially with the war. Love needed to be nurtured; it was incredibly hard to give it the attention it deserved in snatches between demanding work schedules.

As he turned away from the window Alec caught sight of his alarm clock. It was later than he had realised; he’d better get a move on. Thankfully the clocks had just moved back; he shuddered to think how he’d have managed to get up at all without that extra hour’s grace. 

Fifteen minutes later he entered the kitchen. Julia sat at the table, a mug of tea in front of her. She was still in her woolly dressing gown; she looked tired. Her head rose as he came into the room. 

“Better hurry up or you’ll be late,” she warned.

“I know.” Alec quickly sliced a piece of bread from the loaf. He spread it with a little dripping from the roast they’d had yesterday, and disappeared out the door a minute later. He would eat as he walked. Julia moved from kitchen to front door and watched through the glass as he strode confidently down the street, munching his breakfast. 

Long after he disappeared from sight she stood there, staring out at the morning, watching various neighbours out and about. She didn’t notice Mic come down and pause for a moment at the foot of the stairs before he made his way to the kitchen. She paid no attention to the slight noises coming from the kitchen as he refreshed the teapot. She started in surprise as he gently touched her arm from behind. Almost before she realised it, a mug was in her hand and he was leading her back to the kitchen table. He settled into the chair across from her, and sat patiently, silently. 

“I’m sorry,” Julia said, “I’m not very good company this morning.”

“Understandable.”

She grimaced. “We woke you; I am sorry.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Talking about it seems to be all Colonna and I do these days. I’m sick to death of talking.”

“Arguing,” said Mic. 

“Yes, that too,” said Julia, “But we have talked as well. Sensibly, soberly, responsibly – well as much as Colonna is prepared to. She wants what she wants, and won’t hear anything to the contrary.”

“I would have thought it was a little late to try to convince her otherwise now. She _is_ pregnant already, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Julia said, before looking up in mild surprise. “How did you know?”

“You forget. I’ve already been through this. I know the signs.”

“Alec hasn’t guessed.”

“Well, notwithstanding his medical training, nor his brilliance as a doctor, Alec has the distinct disadvantage of never really learning how women’s bodies work, on a practical level, I mean.” He smiled as he said this, looking directly at her, drawing a brief answering smile. 

“I can just imagine how he’ll react.” Julia shook her head sadly. Her hands cradled the mug in front of her, before raising it to her lips for a small sip.

“He won’t think anything you haven’t already said.”

“ _Shouldn’t_ have said, you mean.” Julia sighed deeply. “I can hear myself saying it and I cringe inside, yet I just can’t stop myself. I plan not to – I tell myself I’ll bite my tongue. But then it just all comes out. I’m sorry; I know I’m in the wrong.”

“You can’t be other than you are Julia,” said Mic gently. “And you shouldn’t have to apologise for what you are either.”

“It’s just… it’s so _hard_ , to see someone you love making mistakes you know could have been avoided, when there is nothing you can do or say to stop them. I can see all the problems. She doesn’t want to.”

“I didn’t realise Colonna had planned this.”

“She didn’t. It was that night when you arrived. She saw Viv’s picture and it reminded her of – well, I don’t know really. I know they were close when she was a nurse. Anyway she went off and got drunk and found herself waking up the next morning in some strange man’s bed. She says she was too drunk to remember what happened.” 

“I should have thought by now it was pretty obvious what happened.” 

“ _No_ planning – no thought behind it at all. She can’t even remember his name! ‘Johnny or Jimmy or something like that’, she says. However will she answer this child’s questions when he gets older if she doesn’t even know who the father was!”

“She’ll manage.”

“Will she? You see them in the wards, you know: children born because their mothers thought they might like to have a baby and didn’t know what they were letting themselves in for, until it was too late and they found they could not cope.”

“She’ll have you to help,” said Mic. 

“The stupid thing is she could have _done_ something about it! She was a nurse at one time, for Heaven’s sake! She’s not ignorant of what’s available. All she had to do the next day was _tell_ me what happened and I’d have got her some ergot from the dispensary. But no, she decided to wait and hope for the best!”

“So she doesn’t want the baby? I thought you said - ”

“Oh no, she wants it all right. At first she hoped she wouldn’t be pregnant, but since she’s found out she is, she’s gone off into some kind of rosy haloed never-never-land about how it is ‘meant’.”

“Perhaps she’s right? Viv and I didn’t plan to have Jan when we did, but we were incredibly happy when he came. He made everything mean so much more to both of us. And, in the end, if we hadn’t had him when we did, we wouldn’t have had him at all. It wasn’t so long after he was born that they found that first lump.”

There was silence as Julia absorbed this. Her hand reached across to pat Mic’s in profound sympathy. Eventually he pushed his chair away from the table and crossed over to the small fridge. He reached inside for some chipolatas and put them under the grill. 

“Mic! Sausages for breakfast! We can’t -”

“If we can’t have a treat for Alec’s birthday breakfast, then what is the world coming to?” He waggled his eyebrows at her comically.

“Oh, Mic,” Julia laughed at him, “when he isn’t even here. That really is too bad of you.”

“I don’t think Alec will mind. Sausages aren’t exactly his favourite.” 

“True,” Julia agreed. “But they are at least filling, and relatively easy to come by. The things I had to go through to get that pork roast for yesterday’s celebration!”

“Sold your soul to the devil, my dear?” 

“Near enough,” Julia laughed again briefly, but sobered soon enough. “Seriously though Mic, where will we all be this time next year, let alone in five years? Every battle seems to end in defeat. This just isn’t the time to be having a baby.”

Mic left the sausages sizzling under the grill and crossed back to the table. He knelt down before Julia and enfolded her into his arms. His hug was warm, comforting, brotherly. 

“I know, but we haven’t been invaded yet and, if the Germans haven’t crossed the Channel by now, my guess is they never will. I put my faith in what Churchill said.”

“What – ‘fight on the beaches’! Fat chance Colonna will have doing that if she’s nine months pregnant!”

Mic laughed. “Well, I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘never give in’ but if you want to give Colonna a pitchfork and send her off to patrol the barbed wire, far be it from me to say otherwise!”

He smiled directly into Julia’s eyes, laughing at her, inviting her to laugh too. She just couldn’t resist; the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. Satisfied, Mic returned to pull the sausages, now nicely brown, from beneath the grill. He made sandwiches and brought them over to the table, before resuming his seat across from Julia. 

“Now we just have to think of the best way to tell Alec.”


	9. Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurie realises Alec's birthday party in 1942 bears some marked differences from the last birthday party he attended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 12/06/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Notes: (1)** This story is a sequel to “Early One Morning” (posted earlier today). **(2)** The second battle of El Alamein was fought from 23 October to 05 November 1942. It was the first Allied victory. Immediately prior to it, public spirit was low, and political pressure was placed on the War Cabinet to consider a peace settlement. When the victory was announced, Churchill ordered church bells to be rung all over the country.   
> **Acknowledgements: (1)** Thank you to "trueriver" for letting me borrow Christopher and the parrot. **(2)** Thank you to those MRF community members who gave me advice about Miss Haliburton’s age and appearance. **(3)** Many thanks are again due to my sister Greer for beta-reading.

Inevitably, Laurie found himself making comparisons as they approached the cottage where Alec now lived. Intellectually he knew it couldn’t be the same as two years ago, but he just couldn’t help it. This was another party for Alec, even if it was a few weeks after the actual birthday, and he was expecting the same slightly seedy crowd as before. There had been no real discussion: Ralph had assumed they'd attend; and they’d come all the way down from Liverpool, using up Ralph’s precious furlough just for this. Lost in his thoughts, Laurie wrong-footed himself on a loose cobble on the path and came down heavily on his bad leg. Ralph’s hand at his elbow steadied, but nonetheless pain shot up from his knee to find a resting place somewhere in his groin. He hoped it wasn’t a harbinger of things to come. Ralph’s sure knock at the door met with swift response. A young woman with long dark hair greeted them. 

“How lovely to meet you at last; I’ve heard so much about you from Alec. I’m his cousin Julia,” she said. 

She reached up to plant a kiss on Ralph’s cheek; Laurie received similar treatment. She smelled of lavender and face powder. Her lipstick left scarlet marks on both their cheeks. Ralph didn’t seem to notice. Surreptitiously, Laurie tried to wipe his own cheek with a handkerchief; he wasn’t sure he was entirely successful. 

“Do come in,” she said, taking their jackets before leading the way to the sitting room. “Alec isn’t back from hospital yet, but he’s expected soon. He was assigned an extra shift at short notice because someone rang in sick.”

Julia disappeared back the way she had come, saying she’d get them both something to drink. Ralph plunged into the party straight away, a congenial grin on his face. Laurie stayed close to his side at first; but his leg hurt, and he hated feeling like a fifth wheel. Very soon he found a nice armchair tucked into a corner and folded himself into it. He was beside a bookcase again. This time the selection included books by D.E. Stevenson rather than R.L.’s _Treasure Island._ He picked a slim volume off the shelf and leafed through it idly. It seemed to be some sort of romance. Alec’s cousin must have had more influence here, rather than Alec himself. Somehow he couldn’t really imagine that serious doctor amusing himself reading about village gossip and flirtations. Unless it was a leftover from Sandy; but no, much as he’d never warmed to the man, Laurie acquitted even Sandy of choosing a soppy woman’s romance with the requisite ‘happily-ever-after’ ending.

Another man joined the party to great acclaim; he looked up thinking this would be Alec, but it was someone Laurie had never met. Laurie was in time, though, to see Ralph throw back his head in laughter; he seemed to be having a good time at least. Ralph’s eyes sought Laurie’s across the room and he raised an eyebrow in query. Laurie could read his expression even without the words that Ralph mouthed, and shook his head, smiling slightly. No, he didn’t need Ralph to join him; no need to take his attention away from a party Ralph was clearly relishing. 

“I hoped I’d see you here.” 

Laurie shifted his gaze to focus on Ed Barnes who had just sat down on the footstool beside him. 

“Hullo,” said Laurie. “You’re still posted in Bridstow, then.”

“Yes,” said Ed.

“And still with Christopher, I see.” Laurie nodded in the direction of the attractive RAF officer standing next to Ralph. 

“Yes, well, sort of,” came the reply. At Laurie’s obvious puzzlement, Ed looked a bit sheepish and explained. “Chris was posted up north for a couple of months but we got back together when he came back to Bridstow.”

“He still has that bird, I see.” A parrot was perched on Christopher’s shoulder; Laurie _remembered_ that bird all too well. He still thought Ralph had served Ed and Chris a dirty turn by handing the bird off to them.

“Christopher won’t hear of getting rid of it.”

The two young men exchanged glances of mutual sympathy. 

“How’s Liverpool?”

“All right, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement. Problems?”

“Not really – well not between _us._ The place is a bit...” Laurie didn’t know how to say it. Any port had a rough element, even Bridstow, but somehow Liverpool’s – well it had come as a surprise, that was all, particularly after the dreaming spires of Oxford. Ralph seemed to cope so much better than he did. Well, Ralph would, wouldn’t he: decorated for his part in Dunkirk and all that. As an officer, he could command the respect of sailors, especially since, having once been below decks, he seemed to have a special insight into managing them. Laurie, however, stuck with shipping manifests in a very dull and dusty office, found it quite a different story. He wasn’t going to say all this to Ed Barnes, however. 

“At least it’s large enough I was able to find work and we could be together. We weren’t sure that would be possible those few months he was posted down in Falmouth. Fortunately he moved to Liverpool just before I graduated.” 

Someone had put a record on the gramophone and a few people were dancing now. There really wasn’t space for it, especially since even more had arrived; but that didn’t stop anyone. He could see Ralph twirling some blonde woman round in circles. Christopher came to collect Ed and took him off into the crowd. Someone stepped back and didn’t notice he’d stepped on Laurie’s foot. Another jostled his leg, setting off a nasty ache. The hubbub reached a new level. 

Laurie supposed Ralph was used to it. There was a social side to his role at Liverpool docks; and, about once a week, he had to attend evening dos with ship owners as part of work. Office clerks like Laurie weren’t invited in quite the same way. Oh, there was a social life for people at his level if he wanted, but he’d never been very good at parties. And now that he and Ralph were together he felt terribly conspicuous going alone, as if he were a single man. It felt he was both advertising he was available and lying about his preferences all in one. At least that was one good thing about tonight: no need to lie about being with Ralph. Laurie got up and carefully inched his way toward the door. One particularly exuberant dancer jostled his elbow and what was left of his drink spilled down his trousers. It made him all the more determined to be somewhere else.

Miraculously the entrance hall was relatively clear of people. Only two couples had sought a quieter place to talk. As he made his way between them, movement above caught his eye. He looked up into the face of a little boy in pyjamas. He was sitting on the stairs quietly between two men Laurie hadn’t met before. The taller of the two had his arm around the child. The other was offering a small plate with a piece of cake. It was clearly a private moment and Laurie continued making his way to the kitchen, where he found Theo Sumner. 

“Hullo old chap,” Theo greeted him cordially. “Nice to see you and Ralph again. It looks as if you need another drink.” He nodded at the empty tumbler Laurie still clutched in his right hand, and pushed the gin bottle his way. 

“I just came out to freshen Peter’s and my glasses. Wonderful news isn’t it?

“News?” Laurie looked blank for a moment, but then realised. “Yes, wonderful. A victory at last.”

“I _said_ Monty could do it – _would_ do it, and of course he did! I say, those church bells were a bit of a surprise. Nice idea, though: certainly picked up everyone’s spirits. Serendipitous that Alec had this party planned for today.”

“Yes,” said Laurie. 

“I must get back;” and Theo left the room.

After fixing himself another drink, Laurie took a chair, mulling over recent events. Like many others travelling that day, they had started off too early in the morning to listen to the news, so the church bells had come as a surprise. The message had passed through the carriage: victory at El Alamein. As the bells rang forth in gleeful clamour, the rest of the journey down had taken on a festive air. Travellers had dropped their usual reserve to chat openly with strangers sitting beside them. After arriving in Bridstow, they’d found their hotel had put up a banner over the bar. Broad smiles had greeted them as they checked in. It was assumed they would be out late celebrating.

Laurie looked round at the quiet kitchen. Despite the dirty glasses and plates piled high in the sink, it was a haven of calm after the sitting room. On the table in front of him was a small cake. It was nothing particularly special: just a sponge with jam. Four small candles had been pushed into the top as decoration; one rested on its side on the plate where a slice had been cut.

“I thought I saw you duck in here.” 

Laurie looked round, startled, and began to stand, saying, “I didn’t realise you knew Alec Deacon.”

“No, don’t get up,” Winifred Haliburton waved him back down, even as she spoke. “I’m better friends with Julia, but yes, of course I know Alec. We are all employed by the same hospital, after all.” 

Laurie could see the physiotherapist had not lost her decisiveness in the last two years.

“That leg is troubling you again, I see. Let me have a look.”

“It’s nothing,” Laurie demurred. “I just twisted it a bit on the way here.”

He spoke to no avail. Winifred Haliburton sat and lifted his foot. Deftly she undid his bootlace and slipped the special footwear off. Her pepper and salt hair fell forward half hiding her face as she bent her head to look. Her hands probed his knee and massaged down his calf, around the ankle, and under the arch of his foot, easing tense muscles. Laurie sighed as he relaxed into the moment.

“Better?”

“Yes, thanks awfully.” 

Both were too intent on the offending leg to notice the two men who now stood at the doorway, looking first at them, and then at each other. Ralph spoke first, his mouth twitching as he tried to keep a straight face.

“So here’s where you’ve got to. I bring you to a party and the next thing I know you’ve abandoned me to go chatting up a woman.”

Once again, Laurie jumped in surprise. Hastily he pulled his leg away from Winifred Haliburton, and stood, slightly lopsided, with one boot on and one off, his face flushed. 

“Uh, no, she’s not a woman; I mean -” Laurie’s face turned an even brighter hue, “Of course she is a woman. Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest, you weren’t. I just – well I didn’t mean - I mean I wasn’t trying -” At this point, he turned too hastily and stumbled, falling, as luck would have it, against Rollo. 

“And now he’s throwing himself into another man’s arms!” quipped Ralph. “Faithless Spud!”

Rollo laughed as he righted Laurie. “We seem fated to attract the same men.”

In harmony, Ralph and Rollo grinned. Laurie wouldn’t have thought he could blush harder but his face felt burning hot. He was terribly conscious of Miss Haliburton standing behind him, hands on hips, eyes assessing. He felt a little better when Ralph’s arm draped round his shoulders and pulled him into his side, but he still had a lingering feeling of being out-of-synch with the rest of them.

“Alec’s been delayed again at the hospital,” said Ralph. “He rang a few minutes ago to tell Rollo.”

That explained the cake, thought Laurie. It was quite inconsequential, of course, but it was the first thing he thought of. It had seemed strange. Presumably it had originally been meant as a birthday cake for Alec. But when they’d realised he’d be delayed, a slice had been given to the little boy on the stairs. You couldn’t keep a small child waiting too long, after all.

“Shall we go?” 

At this, Laurie looked directly at Ralph.

“I’ve arranged with Rollo to come back tomorrow. We can see Alec then, and meet Julia and Mic as well - get to know everyone. You didn’t seem to be enjoying the party all that much, anyway.”

Laurie smiled. Ralph was being thoughtful as usual. 

“I am a bit tired. We had a long journey down.”

They paused on their way out, waiting as Rollo went to get their jackets. The crowd in the sitting room had thinned a little - though there were still quite a few people, and the air of euphoria remained. The blonde woman Ralph had been dancing with earlier was now waltzing with Julia. Miss Haliburton had her arms around a handsome fortyish woman with an overbite. Pieces of information he’d had floating unconnected in the back of his brain now fell neatly into place. Laurie looked at the crowd more closely. Yes, they were all _couples._ Not individuals pairing off, with alliances shifting as the evening wore on, but couples looking out for one another, enjoying each other’s company, and making sure no one was left out of the celebration, even if the other half was busy somewhere else for a time. 

“Spud?” 

Laurie turned his attention from the party scene to Ralph, who was holding his jacket open for him. 

“Perhaps we could stay a little longer after all.”


	10. At the End of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rollo and Alec together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 12/06/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements: (1)** The poetry excerpt is from “To His Mistress Going to Bed” by John Donne. **(2)** Many thanks to Greer Watson for helping me by beta-reading this story.

Alec’s tread was slow and heavy as he turned the corner into his own street. It had been a very long day; the clock had been chiming 1:00 a.m. when he left the hospital. It seemed most of Bridstow had been out celebrating, with the inevitable increase in accidents to those who had had a few too many. He really had not expected to work this late, but a nasty vehicle collision had meant he’d needed to stay on. Major Ferguson had rung round off-duty staff trying to get extra help, but quite a lot of people couldn’t be reached. They’d probably been at parties. In the end everyone already on shift who had any surgical experience – even someone fairly junior like himself - had been asked to work extra.

The hinges squeaked slightly as he pushed open the garden gate. In the dark Alec stumbled on that loose cobble. It really needed fixing but it was impossible to find the materials these days. He righted himself quickly and started fishing in his pocket for the key, before noticing the front door was being held open for him. It seemed not everyone had gone to bed after all. 

“Sorry I’m so late. I really didn’t expect you to wait up for me. Was it a good party?” asked Alec.

“Don’t worry; you weren’t forgotten. We all toasted you _in absentia_. Hungry?”

Alec paused briefly in the course of taking off his coat, as if considering his answer.

“I thought as much. When did you last eat?” asked Rollo. 

“Ah...”

“Well, if you have to think about that, then it’s been too long. You go in and relax; I’ll get you something.” He gave Alec a gentle push in the direction of the sitting room and headed off for the kitchen.

Alec kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa, his back propped against one of its arms, his toes burrowed under a velvet throw cushion for warmth. The room had been put back in order since the party, but the odd dirty glass lingered in the corner, mute evidence of the night’s revelry. Alec closed his eyes concentrating on the faint sounds emanating from the kitchen as Rollo worked. He liked to envisage his movements: now he was making tea; that was the fridge door closing again. He opened his eyes as he heard Rollo leave the kitchen, only to be commanded to close them again as Rollo reached the door to the sitting room.

“I have a surprise; don’t look ‘til I tell you.”

Obediently, Alec sat waiting for the treat.

“Here, have this for just a moment – no keep them shut,” Rollo reinforced the request as he saw Alec’s eyelashes flutter. “Just another minute.”

Rollo placed the tray he was carrying on Alec’s lap before bringing an end table round to stand beside the sofa. The tray was then transferred to the little table, its contents positioned carefully so Alec could reach easily. 

“Sit up a bit, please.” Alec felt a light touch on his shoulder. Obediently he raised his back slightly. 

“No, sorry - scoot forward.”

This time, as Alec moved Rollo slipped in behind him, joining him on the sofa, moving him further down to make space, then sliding down behind so his front pressed against Alec’s back. In the course of this, inevitably, Alec’s eyes opened – and briefly widened as he saw what awaited him. Quickly he shut them again; he mustn’t spoil the surprise. 

Rollo pushed his legs either side of Alec’s body and bent his knees to cross stocking feet over Alec’s calves. His arms pulled Alec back, cradling him. He wasn’t satisfied until he had undone Alec’s tie and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt.

“You may open your eyes now.” 

The tray was set with a napkin, spoon, two mugs of tea, and the plate of food. Alec tilted his head back to look at Rollo. A satisfied little smile played about his friend’s mouth as he took in Alec’s pleasure. 

“That brown mug is for me; the rest is yours,” said Rollo. 

Alec handed Rollo one of the drinks before shifting the plate to his lap. He took a sip from his own mug first, while contemplating the food. 

“Happy Birthday,” said Rollo. “Now eat up; don’t let it get cold.” 

With due reverence, Alec picked up the little apostle spoon and tapped lightly round the side of the soft-boiled egg, before using it to lever the top off. Five toast soldiers rested on the plate beside the eggcup. He dipped one into the yolk and brought it to his lips. His tongue savoured that rare flavour. The second toast soldier was fed to Rollo. It didn’t take long before nothing but shell remained, and the plate went back on the tray. 

Alec gave a contented sigh as he relaxed against his lover. “That was wonderful. I’m almost glad I missed that party if this is my reward.”

“There was a gap without you, though.” Rollo dropped a little kiss on Alec’s neck, before resting his head in the hollow of his shoulder. Hot breath dampened the side of Alec’s neck.

“How was Colonna?”

“In fine form. You know she’s always at her best at a party. She flirted with everyone, man and woman alike.”

Alec turned his head to nestle his nose against Rollo and breathed deeply. He could smell that lovely warm man smell of him: Pear’s soap overlaid with the day’s sweat. It was uniquely his. He inhaled again.

“As long as Julia was happy.”

“I think she quite likes to watch the performance,” said Rollo. He smoothed his hands down Alec’s arms, threaded his fingers through Alec’s, and gave a gentle squeeze.

“I liked your Ralph.”

“Hardly _my_ Ralph. Our time together is long past. Still, I’m glad you liked him. Do you think it was mutual?”

“He’s coming back tomorrow, so you can ask him then.” Rollo’s hands had now crossed to Alec’s chest and were busy unbuttoning his shirt.

“He never liked Sandy.” Alec had been going to say more but he found himself suddenly short of breath as one finger traced an intricate pattern on his chest.

“It’s never easy facing the next man your lover chooses after you. After all, you had the same problem with Laurie at first.”

Alec hadn’t thought of it that way, and protested. 

“Laurie wasn’t Ralph’s first after me. Besides, he put Ralph through the wringer when they first met up again.

“From what you’ve told me, he is Ralph’s first real lover after you – the rest were just for sex. _And_ from what you’ve said, Sandy put you through a bit too.”

“I suppose. I wasn’t right for him though. I never meant to hurt him; it just went wrong for us both in the end.” 

As if to comfort, in the face of Alec’s remembered pain, Rollo’s hands stroked lower, until the palms pressed flat against his belly, the tips of his fingers just under the trouser waist.

“Well, fortunately, it seems to be going right for Ralph and Laurie.”

“What time are they coming tomorrow?” Alec tried to keep his voice steady. But his question was not answered. Instead Rollo’s voice whispered in his ear: 

_“Licence my roving hands, and let them go...”_

Alec’s nostrils flared with swift indrawn breath as Rollo’s fingers acted out the next line. He wouldn’t have thought his tired body could respond so strongly. His head fell willingly to one side as Rollo nibbled gently on the side of his neck.

“Come to bed,” said Rollo. 

Alec grimaced. “The spirit is willing, but notwithstanding everything, I wouldn’t count on my flesh. I’m likely to fall asleep on you.”

Rollo stood up, and pulled Alec up with him. He placed a gentle kiss on Alec’s lips. 

“Tomorrow then; we’ll have a lazy morning.”


	11. Normal Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurie and Ralph visit and Alec reflects on commitment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to :** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 05/11/2009  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to greerwatson for beta reading an earlier version of this story. I got in a muddle over this one, however, and thanks are due to the members of LiveJournal's picowrimo community for getting me started again (especially "nineveh_uk" and "azdak" who both commented on the draft revised ending).

Colonna opened the front door when they knocked the second time. She had a pinny on over what looked like quite a nice blouse. 

“Sorry,” she said, smiling, “we’re not all ready yet, but do come in.”

Laurie and Ralph stepped inside the front hallway, as she turned away to shout up the stairs. 

“Do get a move on, Alec! Ralph and Laurie are here!”

“Alec hasn’t changed, I see,” said Ralph. 

Colonna grimaced. “Was he like this with you too? I’ve never met anyone who can fritter away his time half so well. And Rollo’s not much better. You wouldn’t think either held a responsible job, if all you saw was them at home.”

“It drove me mad.”

“Not all ship-shape and Bristol-fashion?” Laurie asked, surprised at this insight into a man he’d always secretly been a bit jealous of. Even if their relationship hadn’t worked, it had always been clear Ralph valued deeply his friendship with Alec. A little voice deep inside had always wondered why Ralph turned away from Alec. It had grown quieter over the last couple of years; but it had never completely gone away. Ralph’s automatic acceptance of Alec’s birthday invitation had made some of those doubts resurface.

“More like an unmade bed,” came Ralph’s blunt response.

“Come through and I’ll get you both something to drink.” Colonna led the way to the kitchen. “Tea – or do you want something stronger? We have a little rum left from last night.”

“Hello!” Julia looked up briefly from where she sat at the kitchen table. It was covered in a white sheet that draped onto the floor. She bent back to her task, cutting through the middle with a large pair of scissors. Laurie watched in fascination at the care she took to cut a very straight line.

“Here you are.” Colonna handed him a glass with a small amount of dilute rum. Laurie took a small sip – very dilute indeed. He looked across at Ralph whose glass held a somewhat darker coloured liquid. Typically, he had added less water to his own glass, preferring a shorter stronger drink. Ralph upended it and swallowed the lot in one gulp; it was really only a mouthful. The bottle, now empty, rested by the back door, waiting to be put out with the bin. Belatedly, Laurie realised they had been offered the last alcohol in the house. Given the increasing scarcity of supply, it was a real honour. 

“Drink up!” Colonna stood in front of him again, this time offering a steaming mug. 

“Rum with a tea chaser,” remarked Ralph. “Almost makes one think one’s in India.” 

He raised his mug in salute. Laurie acknowledged the gesture with his glass before drinking the contents quickly. Normally he preferred to sip spirits, but this was so weak it slipped down very easily. 

“That’s better.” Colonna plucked the used glass from his hand, replacing it with the mug. “Mic’s outside in the garden, if you’d like to say hello. Or you can stay here and help.”

“What are you doing?” asked Laurie. Julia had by now finished cutting the sheet and was sitting with it draped over her lap. She appeared to be pinning it back together, which made no sense. 

“Sides to middle, of course.”

“Sides to middle?” Laurie’s confusion showed. 

Colonna laughed. “It’s easy to see you never did this. Wealthy family?”

“Not particularly, no,” said Laurie. “What do you mean?”

“Wealthy families don’t need to do this.”

“I beg your pardon?” Laurie still looked puzzled. 

A sewing machine had been set up in one corner of the kitchen. Colonna was now seated in front of it. Her feet worked the treadle expertly, keeping the machine working smoothly, sewing seams in another swathe of bed linen. 

“The sheets are getting worn in the middle, where we sleep on them. The sides that are tucked under the mattress are just fine, though,” explained Julia, “so we cut them through, swap the sides to middle, and sew them together. It’s almost like getting a new sheet, except for the seam down the middle; but of course, we put that on the mattress side, so when the bed is made, you don’t feel it.”

“Why not just buy new sheets?” asked Laurie. 

Colonna laughed. “Well, we might if we could find them, but new sheets can’t be had for love nor money. There is a war on, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Besides,” said Julia, “most families do this, unless, as Colonna says, they’re really well off. Even then, usually the housekeeper does it; only then it’s the servants that get the old sheets, and the family gets new. Do you mean to say you never slept on sheets with seams at home?”

“No, they had seams.” Laurie spoke slowly, adjusting as his memories shifted round – or maybe it was his perspective changing, rather than the memories themselves. “I guess I just thought they came that way.”

It was not lost on him how the women exchanged amused glances. It was the kind of superior look he’d sometimes seen on his mother’s face.

“Here,” Julia said, handing him the sheet she had been pinning. “Why don’t you finish pinning this for Colonna, while I go and see if I can’t light a fire under Alec and Rollo.”

With bewildering speed, Laurie found himself seated by the kitchen table. His empty mug was pushed to one side and Julia handed him a small silver pincushion. It was shaped like a hedgehog; the red velvet back bristled with pins. As Julia disappeared through the kitchen door, Colonna left her place by the sewing machine to show him what to do. Laurie pulled a pin from the velvet, wondering just how he had volunteered for this. Ralph had long since disappeared out to the garden. Through the window Laurie could see him laughing as he swung a little boy high in a circle, round and round, watched by Mic. 

“Like this -“

He turned back to observe Colonna deftly fit a pin into the sheet. 

“Now you do the rest.”

Dutifully, he concentrated on the material before him. Merry sounds intruded from the garden as childish giggles rose to a high squeal of delight. Above, he could hear Julia knocking on a door upstairs. Either sounded much more fun than what Laurie was doing.

“Alec! Are you _anywhere_ near ready yet?”

The bathroom door opened to reveal Alec, clad in trousers and undershirt. Half his face showed evidence of having been shaved; the rest was under lather, but he held one finger to his lips. At her puzzled look, he beckoned her to the window, then pointed toward the source of his distraction. A wide smile broke over Julia’s face as she gazed down. Jan had clambered onto Ralph’s back and was now riding his ‘horse’, bouncing with glee and slapping one hand against his mount’s side, as Ralph neighed in response to the boy’s command to ‘giddy-up’. 

“He’ll get his trousers all muddy crawling round like that,” Julia observed quietly. 

“Somehow I don’t think he’ll mind. A little dirt is nothing compared to that.” Alec nodded towards his friend in emphasis.

“The other side of that DSO,” Julia remarked. 

“Underside, more like; that’s what he’s fighting for.”

As they watched, Mic came forward to lift his boisterous son off Ralph’s back.

“That’s too rough, Jan,” he admonished gently. “Come over here and sit with me for a minute. Your shoe is undone.”

“It’s all right,” said Ralph. “He didn’t really hurt me.”

Mic smiled as he sat the little boy in front of him. “No, he needs to learn.” Deftly he tied the left lace before undoing the right, which had loosened, and retying it properly. “Now, say sorry to Uncle Ralph for smacking him like that. You shouldn’t smack your horse anyway.”

“Why?”

“Well, you don’t like to be smacked, do you? Why would your horse?”

“Sorry, Uncle Ralph.”

“That’s all right, old chap.” Ralph had kneeled to watch father and son, and now he sat down on the patio and fished into his jacket pocket. “Here, I brought you something.” He held out a small paper packet with a short black tube sticking out one end.

“What’s that?”

“Sherbet powder. See the liquorice stick? You suck through it. Go on - try!” 

The little boy glanced at his father for reassurance, and after receiving a nod, took the treat from the man in front of him and put the liquorice between his lips. His eyes opened wide as the sherbet fizzed on his tongue, and wonderment filled his face.

“What do you say, Jan?”

“Thank you, Uncle Ralph.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Time to go in, Jan.” Mic glanced over to Ralph and he rose and dusted off his trousers. “By now, surely, Alec will be ready.”

Above, unnoticed by the trio in the garden, Julia mocked, “Yes, Alec, by now surely, you’ll be ready.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be finished in a moment and then I’ll be ready.” He turned back to the washbasin, picked up his razor, and lifted his chin to stretch the skin so he could complete shaving.

Julia turned away, bumping into Rollo as she left the bathroom. 

“Whatever is the delay now?” 

“You’re a fine one to talk,” she chided. “You’re the one who kept him in bed most of the morning.”

“He didn’t get home until very late last night.” Rollo looked directly into Julia’s eyes. “He works too hard. You do too. You don’t need a schedule at home on top of that hospital.”

Julia dropped her eyes in acknowledgement of this truth, then passed by him to go downstairs. The kitchen was crowded – too crowded – and she shooed Laurie and Ralph into the sitting room while everyone else tidied up. Mic helped Jan wash his hands and face at the sink while she and Colonna folded the sheets and packed away the rest of the sewing materials. 

“Here, let me help,” said Rollo, coming into the kitchen just as Julia began to move the sewing machine back into the pantry. “That’s too heavy for you.” 

“Is Alec down yet?” she asked. 

“Yes, Alec’s down yet!” 

Julia looked round to see Alec framed by the doorway, pulling a face at her. “Do go say hello to your friends, at least. It’s not as if they travelled half the country just to visit.”

“Yes Matron.” Alec saluted before turning toward the sitting room. He slowed as he approached the open doorway and heard Laurie’s pleasant voice, answered by Ralph’s even tones.

“I didn’t know you liked children so much.”

“Why do you think I tried with women for two years?” Ralph replied. 

Alec halted just short of the sitting room. Ralph wasn’t talking very loudly, but with everyone else in the kitchen, he could hear clearly. He remembered many heartfelt conversations back when the two of them lived together. How had Ralph not told Laurie this before? Then again, he had met Ralph just towards the end of his self-imposed ‘exile’. One might even say Alec was the reason Ralph had given up trying with women, though Alec had always viewed that as inevitable. Perhaps Ralph didn’t need to talk about it as much nowadays.

“We talked once about some people being ‘normal plus’.” Alec thought Laurie sounded uncertain. “But that was about those dreadful parties. We just wanted a normal kind of life as a couple.”

“Except most couples have children at some stage.”

“I suppose.” Laurie sounded extremely uncertain now. 

“Have you really never thought of it before now, Spud?”

“Not feeling the way I did about you.”

“Well I did,” said Ralph. 

“They’re almost ready.” Alec started at the whisper in his ear. “Colonna’s just helping Julia pin up her hair, and Mic took Jan to get a clean shirt. Everyone will be here in a minute.”

Alec looked back over his right shoulder at Rollo, who stood just behind him. He had been concentrating too hard on Ralph and Laurie to notice his arrival. 

Rollo brushed his mouth with a quick kiss before announcing, rather dramatically, “Alec! You’re ready at last!” 

Alec smiled as he turned toward Rollo, nodding his acceptance of this ploy. “I’m not _that_ late surely?” He, too, spoke loudly. 

“At last.” Ralph spoke from the sitting room door. The broad grin on his face, as he looked at Rollo and Alec together, belied the exasperated tone of his voice. “Happy Birthday, Alec.” 

Alec spun round to grasp Ralph’s hand that was stuck out in greeting. “Oh, it is good to see you again – _both_ of you.” He smiled into Laurie’s eyes. “When _are_ you two going to transfer back here so we can all see more of each other? You’re just too far away.”

“That’s out of my hands. Sorry.”

“All set?” The voice came from behind Rollo as Colonna and Julia joined them. 

“Whee! Look at me!” 

“Carefully, now, Jan.” Mic spoke at the same time as his son’s gleeful shout as he supervised the child’s controlled slide down the banisters. 

“Again!” came the little boy’s command. 

“No, we’re going out now.”

“When we get home?”

“Perhaps.” Mic rolled his eyes at the adults in the group. “He’d do that all day if I let him.”

“Where are we going?” asked Laurie. 

“There’s a pub about twenty minutes away that serves decent nosh. It has a family room, so it’s fine for Jan,” Julia said. “And the landlord and his wife know us, so they’ll see he’s all right too.”

They set off, the two women and Laurie in the lead. Colonna was chattering nine to a dozen with Laurie, who looked slightly bemused at her attention. A few steps behind them came Mic and Ralph, with Jan in between. Each man held one of the child’s hands. They were counting as they went; on every fifth step Jan jumped and laughed as they lifted him that little bit higher. 

At the rear, Rollo hung back with Alec - walking, but more slowly so that a gap developed with the rest of their party.

“Is something wrong?” Alec asked, puzzled by the sombre look on Rollo’s face. 

Rollo looked troubled. “I heard what Ralph said about children. And you once said it was something Sandy felt bad about....”

Alec frowned slightly. “That was never my dream.”

“No?” asked Rollo.

Alec walked beside his friend, silent while he marshalled the words. Most queer men wouldn’t ask; it was just one of those things not discussed – at least not at parties. He supposed it was a mark of the man that Rollo broached the subject. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Rollo’s quiet voice sounded empty. 

Alec glanced beside him in time to see Rollo stiffen his shoulders. The troubled look on his face had been replaced with a bland expression. Oh hell, he’d hurt him! Rollo must think – 

“It’s not that I don’t want to; I’m just not sure _how_ to say it.”

Rollo’s expression softened. “However you want; I’m listening.”

They walked in silence. They were, in fact, almost at the pub before Alec spoke, stopping Rollo with a touch, and turning to look directly at him. 

“Ralph is straight as a die – queer – but apart from that he’s basically a family man. I always wanted medicine rather than family, which comes as no surprise to anyone who really knows me. It was odd the way Ralph and Sandy couldn’t stand one another; they had so much in common under the surface.” 

“And?” 

“Children can’t walk away if you don’t give them what they need.”

Rollo’s eyes brightened. “Is that what this really is about? You expect me to walk away?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Let’s face it; there’s a war on. You could be sent half way across the country anytime. And I -” Alec paused again, uncertain. He looked round. The pub entrance was only a few yards away. The rest of the group had already gone in; they must be wondering what was keeping them. He kicked at a pile of leaves that had fallen from a nearby chestnut tree; they made a satisfying rustling sound. He kicked again, and again, studying the way the pile shifted, leaves floating off in different directions – like people drifting apart under pressure. He knew he was avoiding his friend’s gaze. 

“Alec?”

Rollo was waiting. Sandy had waited – had driven himself wild with waiting. Ralph had just left. 

“I’m not good at commitment.” Alec’s voice was so quiet Rollo had to listen very carefully to make out the words. 

“I haven’t asked you for it. I may, in the future – who knows? I’m not particularly good at casual encounters. I’d rather be alone than do the round of parties. But I like to think we might achieve something special, given time.” 

Alec looked up and met Rollo’s eyes at this. They were steady and warm and honest. He straightened his shoulders, suddenly conscious of how tense he had become. “Of all the times and places to choose for this conversation!” 

Rollo laughed. “Another time then.” Together they walked to the pub to join their friends.


	12. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Spring 1943 Alec comes to the realisation of how much is just the same and what real differences a year have made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally written for:** the LiveJournal Brigit’s Flame community January 2010 Challenge and subsequently revised and posted to maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 27/02/2010  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Notes:**   
>  (1) An earlier version of this story was written for the Brigit’s Flame January 2010 Challenge and posted to my livejournal. The prompts used were: suicide, destiny, starting over, and arrival.   
> (2) Scrabble as it is known today was not marketed until 1948. However, it is based on an earlier game called Criss-Crosswords that was invented in the USA by Alfred Butts in 1938. Like Scrabble, Criss-Crosswords also involved placing letter tiles (all of which carried numerical values), on a game board to form words, and counting the score.   
> **Acknowledgements:**  
>  (1) The two lines of poetry are from “the Good-Morrow” by John Donne.   
> (2) I am very grateful to the Brigit’s Flame Community editors mister_troper and cherith for their helpful comments, many of which I have incorporated into this revised version.   
> (3) Many thanks also to my sister Greer Watson for her editing suggestions. 
> 
> Changes

“That was neat work,” Alec complimented, as he scrubbed his hands. “Did you never think of becoming a surgeon?”

He had been called to Casualty to assist Kit Anderson. He had sutured the hand, while Kit had dealt with the rest of the patient’s ailments. It had been delicate work repairing torn ligaments, and required precision to ensure the injured man regained full use of all his fingers. Despite the concentration his own work had demanded, Alec had nonetheless been aware of his colleague’s progress. 

Kit’s normally serious face lit with a smile. “I toyed with it at one time, but I know my calling.”

Alec titled his head to one side and looked quizzically at his companion. Kit laughed. 

“You surgeons are all alike – so sure it’s what _you_ want, that you cannot quite understand why others don’t want the same!”

“So, tell me.”

“It’s not just a matter of dexterity, you know. It’s about temperament. Surgeons concentrate on just the bit they are operating on; I want to treat the whole patient. So you see, I am better off in general practice – with the occasional dabbling in hospital work, like today.”

“Well, your patients are better off, certainly. Colonna is positively blooming under your care.” 

“Mine, and – more importantly – Julia’s,” returned Kit. “Are you off now?” he asked, noticing Alec was pulling off his hospital coat. 

“Yes, you caught me just at the end of my shift. You?”

“I just started. Give my best to Colonna. Remind her to come and visit my wife soon. They can talk babies; Christie always likes that.” 

Alec emerged from the hospital to a bright April morning. It promised to be a fine day, he thought, and set off at a brisk pace, negotiating the crowds that were heading into town for the start of their work even as he headed out. 

“Yo, Alec! Hold on!” 

Mic brushed past a balding middle-aged man in a bowler hat to catch his friend. “Careful now!”

“Sorry,” Mic made hasty apology to the grumpy protest, before turning to face Alec.

“We keep missing each other, and I just wanted to check whether you are still able to help me move this weekend.”

“Yes, of course,” said Alec. “Anything I should get at the shops on my way home?”

“A nice roast of beef would be lovely, and fresh peas.” Humour lit Mic’s eyes before he turned toward the hospital. Already there were long queues, snaking back from the shops. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Alec called after him, before heading in the opposite direction. He paused briefly at the grocer’s to ask what they were queuing for. No one seemed quite sure. One person told him asparagus; another had heard a shipment of tomatoes had arrived (which sounded more likely). He decided not to wait, but lingered for a moment to read the headlines on the billboard outside the newsagent's before turning the corner. What a difference there had been in the last few months. The papers sounded almost optimistic these days. 

Alec’s steps slowed as he neared the railway station. At least news from North Africa was good, thank God. He could hope.... 

But in war, he thought, things change so fast. And you never know till after: letters take so long, and the censor.... He fumbled in both trouser pockets before finally locating a cigarette, and stopped to light it, cupping the match in his hands so the slight breeze wouldn’t extinguish the flame. The last time other hands had done this for him.... 

Damn the war. Damn it for taking Rollo away in February, for keeping him so far distant for so long. 

Despite the winter cold, Alec and Rollo had stood on the platform over an hour waiting for the train’s arrival, reluctant to join other passengers in the crowded, smelly waiting room. For once he’d been pleased about the disrupted rail schedule. They hadn’t talked much, and what they’d said had been trivial. He had almost left it too late. The train had actually been pulling into the station when, finally, he had lifted his head to look Rollo straight in the eye. Amidst the clamour of the engine’s approach, no one had noticed one man tell another he loved him. The high pitched screech of braking, as the train was brought to a halt, had meant no one – including Alec – could possibly have heard Rollo’s reply. But though no one else took note, Alec had seen the glistening corners of Rollo’s eyes, and the way his usually guarded expression melted, just as Rollo had seen the corresponding warmth in Alec’s own face. Amidst the hustle and bustle of departure, a bubble of quiet joy had encompassed the pair. Rollo had reached into his inner breast pocket to pull out a slender volume. He briefly leafed through it, before handing it to Alec. His fingers pointed out two lines.

“Here,” he said, “it’s for you to keep – something to remember me by, if I don’t come back.” 

Then he had gone, striding quickly, bag in hand to one of the carriages. Nearby, wives and girlfriends had been indulging in florid embraces, as they saw husbands and lovers off. Alec had not even shaken Rollo’s hand. He had stood stiff and still until the train had left, before looking properly at the poem.

_For love all love of other sights controls,  
And makes one little room an everywhere._

Just remembering that moment now made Alec need to blink back moisture. He patted his own breast pocket, checking for the comforting outline of the little paperback. Then, after a long drag of his cigarette, he picked up his pace. Perhaps there would be a letter waiting when he got home. 

The flood of people walking to work or early shopping had slowed to a mere trickle by the time he left the town centre. Terraces of houses with no gardens gave way to pleasant suburban streets and gardens gay with the colour of tulips and daffodils. He turned the corner to his own street. A few yards down was the Paston house, empty now, its garden an overgrown tangle. Rob Paston’s ship had been sunk two weeks ago. No sooner had the news come, than Maude Paston had sent Sally to stay with relatives. Maude had now moved to London. No one on the street had been surprised. Since her grandmother’s death last summer, Sally had looked increasingly uncared for. Tragic though it might be for a child to lose her father, perhaps she’d be better off with her aunt. It had also been a bit of luck for Mic, who’d had no success until then in finding a suitable place to rent. In a few days he would move next door. Alec had enjoyed Mic’s company; but there was no getting away from the fact that the house was really rather crowded. In time, he too would move. For now, he planned to take over Mic’s attic rooms, leaving his own for Colonna’s baby which was due in a few weeks.

The hinges on the garden gate moved smoothly and silently as he pushed it open. Someone must have oiled them. The two cobbles in the path leading to the front door remained loose, however. No one could spare building materials to fix them (even supposing one could find a builder whose time wasn’t fully committed to the war effort). Alec carefully stepped over another gap where cobbles were missing entirely, and fished his key out. As he opened the door, he glanced automatically down at the mat. Nothing. He shut the door, and looked hopefully toward the hallway table. Still no post awaited. He’d had none for three weeks.

Ignoring sounds of hilarity emanating from the sitting room, Alec moved toward the kitchen. There, on the table, were two scones; they were still warm from baking. However, the teapot was nowhere in sight and he guessed it was already in use. Alec found himself a clean mug, and took the food across the hall to the sitting room to join his friends.

He paused for a minute in the doorway to take in the scene. Leo and Helen were visiting. They had brought over that odd Criss-Crosswords game. He’d never seen one before Julia had introduced him to Helen. Leo had said an American cowboy friend of hers had sent it. Word games had not been quite his image of the American west; but when he’d said that, he’d noticed a glint in her eye and realised she was laughing at him silently. Helen told him it was a parting gift from someone who also happened to be a writer (which made more sense).

“You’re here awfully early,” Alec remarked by way of greeting.

“We came to help with Spring planting,” explained Helen, “but Colonna didn’t get much sleep last night with the baby kicking, so we’ve been cosy instead.” 

Julia and Colonna were cuddled together on the sofa. Julia’s head rested on Colonna’s shoulder. Her left hand rested on her lover’s swollen belly. Leo’s face held a broad grin as she added her latest score to the running total; clearly she had taken an early lead. Helen just looked her usual serene self, as she reached toward the teapot, and gestured to Alec for his mug. He seated himself cross-legged on the floor beside her, and took a bite from his first scone. It had a funny aftertaste, which puzzled him until he realised they must have been made with mutton fat leftover from the weekend. It was not his favourite flavour, but every scrap of food had to be used these days. Alec chewed slowly, then swallowed some tea to wash down the dry mouthful. 

“You all look comfortable,” Alec remarked.

Colonna broke Julia’s gaze to look at him. “Only a man could say that being beaten up from the inside by a baby was ‘comfortable’.”

“Oh, that’s a nice one!” 

The exclamation from Leo drew everyone’s eyes to the word Helen had just added to the board. There were the usual short one syllable words like ‘pan’ and ‘door’. Leo’s literary streak had shown itself in words like ‘destiny’ and ‘vintage’ – no doubt contributing high scores. Helen had just added ‘suicide’. 

“It’s easy to see two of you are nurses,” Alec said, pointing to ‘tibia’ at one side of the board. 

“I said that was cheating. We’re _supposed_ to use English words,” complained Colonna, “but they overruled me.” 

Alec smiled in sympathy. Without even looking at the score, he expected she must be losing, as usual. He had never been able to master the trick of this game either; his scores were always impossibly low. He peered over to look at her tiles. Not only did Colonna have ‘J’, and ‘X’, she had picked up the dreaded ‘Q’ and ‘Z’, too. Leo would no doubt have found some imaginative use; in all likelihood Colonna would be stuck with them at the end of the game. He polished off the last bite of scone, washed down with more gulps of tea, then rubbed his hands together lightly to remove crumbs. 

“I must go,” he said. “Sorry, I would love to chat longer; but I have to get some rest. I’m on shift again tonight.”

“And _we_ have to make a start on the garden,” said Julia. “Come on, we can play later. The carrots and cabbages are calling.”

“If you insist,” Colonna said plaintively, “though what help you expect me to be when I am so big, I really don’t know. And just when the game was going so _well,_ too.”

As Alec helped Colonna get up from the sofa, Helen and Julia took the tray with teapot and dishes out to the kitchen to wash up. Leo gave a shout of laughter, as she caught sight of Colonna’s tiles while tidying the game, and wagged a finger at Colonna. 

“You wretch, you,” she said. “pretending that way, as if you weren’t just aching for an excuse to get rid of those tiles.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had _plans_ for those letters.” But Colonna’s dignified image was ruined by her twitching mouth. 

“Well, I can tell you right now, when we come back in, we’re not starting the game over. You’ll just have to make do with the same tiles.”

As Alec ascended the stairs toward his bedroom, he could hear the pleasant banter of all four women as they pulled on their wellies and collected gloves, preparing for a day of gardening. As he brushed his teeth, he listened to them discussing the layout of their planting. Last year he had dug the beds, while Julia had done the planting. This year, Mic had helped him with the heavy work; and Leo and Helen were here to help Julia. A year ago, both he and Julia had been single. Now, she and Colonna were starting a family; and he was in love with Rollo. In his room, Alec stripped off his clothes, leaving them to rest untidily on the floor before clambering into bed. _And_ the war was going better. He snuggled his nose into the soft pillow, yawned, and fell fast asleep.


	13. Lavender's Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec Deacon, [Julia] Valentine and Colonna Kimball visit Kit Anderson and Christie Heath on the day Kit receives some important news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 22/08/2010  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Notes:** Earlier drafts of this story were written for the LiveJournal Brigit’s Flame community May 2010 challenge (prompt: strawberries), and Brigit’s Flame August 2010 challenge (prompt: loop). Many thanks to "lalalaleigha", "jamais_toujours", and "vyvyan_wilde" who provided extremely helpful editing comments on earlier drafts. This story has been revised incorporating their suggestions.   
>  (3) Woolton Pie was a vegetable pie created during WWII as a simple-to-make but tasty and nutritious meatless dish. It was named after Lord Woolton who was then Minister of Food. “Food police” refers to the fact it was an offence to waste food during the war; there was a woman in London who was charged when she ‘wasted’ food by feeding birds.   
> (4) The Guinea Pig Club was formed in 1941 for severe burns patients receiving extensive plastic surgery at Queen Victoria Hospital, East Grinstead. Only the most severe cases were treated there, using techniques which were experimental at the time (hence the name). Patients would be transferred from other hospitals which would have started their treatment; less severe cases were not sent to East Grinstead for treatment. Plastic surgery (of a more primitive type than is performed today) was being performed in Britain from the late 18th Century.   
> (5) “Lavender’s Blue”, now commonly known as a nursery rhyme, originated as a folk song dating from the 17th Century.

The letter was waiting when Kit entered the sitting room. Christie had placed it prominently on the mantelpiece. He did not recognise the spidery handwriting on the envelope, but even from a distance he noticed the foreign stamps: South African. He glanced quickly through the open French doors that led out to the back garden from where he could hear Christie’s laughter. She was sitting with Colonna. He knew her well and could see the signs of strain as she acted the perfect hostess – that tension round her mouth, the slight tremor of her hand. 

“Kit, is that you?” Christie’s call made him change direction, though not without backward glance to that letter.

“Kit – _you_ decide!” Colonna said, giggling, as he paused at the garden door. 

“Decide what?” 

“Who gets the last strawberry, of course!” Colonna pointed with a flourish toward the tea things.

“Strawberry?” Kit shook his head, puzzled. The plates held what was left of their tea: one showed only the crumby remains of bread and butter, while the other held a rather plain biscuit.

“Of course,” Colonna giggled. “Can’t you see?” She leaned forward in her chair, this time gesturing gracefully with both hands. “We’ve been indulging ourselves.”

He twigged it now, and smiled. “Why yes, of course.” 

He had crossed to Christie during this banter. Bending, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and rested his right hand on her shoulder, stroking it lightly, before he responded. “And here I thought we were saving the caviar for a special occasion. I come home after a long, hard day treating patients at the surgery to find you’ve eaten it all, plus the strawberries and clotted cream to boot!”

“Don’t worry, darling.” Christie smiled. She could never be sure Kit would join in fun; he was so serious a lot of the time, and, on some days, came home so _very_ tired. “I saved a nice bit of beef for your supper tonight.”

“Not roast beef with all the trimmings, _again_!” Kit exclaimed in mock horror. 

“No, steak and mushroom pie – a la Woolton, of course,” she said, dropping the nonsense abruptly. “I made it before Colonna arrived; it just needs baking.”

Kit took the chair beside Christie, and reached over to give her hand a gentle squeeze. “What else have the two of you been up to?” 

“Clothes for the babies.” Christie nodded at the work draped across her rounded stomach. “It’s not as fancy as the things I made for Milly before she was born. But with the war, it’s just impossible to get lace or embroidery silks.” 

“Baby won’t mind,” said Kit comfortingly. “Besides, I thought you’d decided we were having a boy this time.”

Christie’s hand just twisted in his in answer. 

“Where’s Milly?” Kit asked. 

“Still napping,” Christie explained. “We spent longer in the park today, so I put her down late.” She gave a quick glance at her watch. “I should get her up now, though. Otherwise she’ll sleep too long and I’ll never get her to bed later.” 

She eased herself forward and slowly stood up, waving away Kit’s help as she did. He assessed her with a professional eye as she left. It hadn’t been the easiest of pregnancies but she looked well today. 

“She’s been fine.” Colonna answered his unspoken question when he looked back at her. “And she hasn’t tried to do too much, either. _I_ made the tea when we got back from the park, so she could sit with her feet up.”

“Thank you for that, Colonna,” Kit sighed. “I always feel so much better when I know you are coming over. She’s had to rest so much, and she hates being confined to the house.” 

“The park isn’t far,” Colonna reassured, “and we just sat on a bench together – she with her sewing and me with my knitting. Two pregnant women making baby things; without being flat on one’s back, it really doesn’t get much more restful than that.” There was a short pause before Colonna added, “She’s worried though.”

“I know. She wants this baby to be perfect – as if I don’t love Milly.”

The doorbell interrupted before Colonna could answer. 

“That’ll be Alec and Julia, come to fetch me,” said Colonna. 

“No, don’t get up,” said Kit, as she began to lever herself from her chair. “I asked Alec to see Milly.”

Colonna settled back comfortably while Kit went to the front door. Julia was still in uniform, clearly having come straight from hospital, though she had removed her headdress. Alec had discarded his white coat before leaving work, but nonetheless a professional aura lingered, which sharpened as he focused on the little girl being shepherded downstairs. 

“Daddy!” Small, eager arms lifted high as Milly reached the bottom step, and Kit swung her up in his arms. 

“How’s my best girl?” he asked. 

“Mummy and I went to the park and fed ducks today.” 

“Did you now,” responded her father. “Mustn’t let the food police know about _that_.”

“How are you?” Julia asked after hugging Christie who had closely followed her daughter. “It’s been so busy at work these days; I feel I haven’t seen you in far too long.”

“I’m fine,” said Christie, “grown a bit fatter, since last you saw me, but keeping well. We’ve been in the garden – do come through. Kit, would you get us some drinks?”

As she ushered their guests through the sitting room toward the garden, Kit planted a quick kiss on Milly’s cheek, placed her back down, and watched as she scampered after her mother. He spent a few minutes in the kitchen before rejoining them on the patio with a heavily laden tray.

“Oh, marvellous!” exclaimed Colonna. “However did you find some?” she asked, as tall glasses of Pimms were handed round. 

“It was a present from a grateful patient,” came the reply. 

“If only mine were as grateful,” quipped Alec. 

“Yours just feel lucky to have survived your knife,” retorted Julia, “and been left with _some_ of their skin intact!” 

“Not to mention the chance to join the Guinea Pig Club,” Kit responded, lifting his glass in salute to his colleague.

“Touché,” Julia acknowledged. “He is quite _irritatingly_ talented – always has been – but his surgical achievements do have their uses.”

“Speaking of which,” Alec put down his drink and sat forward, looking intent, “I believe I must sing for my supper.” He cocked his head at Christie, who looked suddenly uneasy and drew back slightly. “No...perhaps Colonna could do the honours?”

She smiled and shifted forward in her chair, before calling gently to the child who had been sitting on the grass a few feet away, playing quietly with a doll. Eagerly, Milly approached the proffered plate of ginger nuts. Even plain biscuits were a treat nowadays, and she bit enthusiastically and crunched vigorously. 

“Turn round, dear, and let Dr Deacon have a quick look while I do your hair.” Colonna fished into a handbag on the ground by her chair, pulling out a comb. Gently she stroked the child’s fine, light-brown hair back from her forehead, before drawing the comb through. 

“Here.” Julia’s hand held out two cherry-red, silk ribbons, pulled from her own French braids coiled round her head like a crown. Smoothly, Colonna gathered the child’s hair into ponytails, one over each ear, and looped the ribbons round, tying them securely in bows. 

“She chews well,” Alec noted from his place kneeling on the ground in front of Milly, as he observed her closely, “and swallows without trouble.” 

“Her palate was never affected.” Kit’s voice was detached, though the fine trembling of his hand belied his outward calm. 

“Just the front of the mouth seems to be affected – purely a cosmetic problem – no real trouble at all.” Alec’s clinical assessment was quickly made. “I should think we could sew the two sides of the lip together without any difficulty, and correct the deformity reasonably well.”

“Deformity-” Christie burst out. “How can you-”

“There – all done now, dearest.” Deftly Colonna turned Milly round, away from the doctor in front of her, and, most importantly, the sight of Christie blinking back tears. “Your hair looks gorgeous, now. Want to see?” At the child’s nod, she reached again into her handbag, this time retrieving her compact, which she opened, using the small round mirror to show the little girl her reflection. “Perfect!”

“Come show me, darling.” As Alec stepped back, Christie called her daughter over, and admired the new hairdo, before sending her back to play with her dolls. 

“So, when would you recommend surgery?” asked Kit, once Milly was out of hearing. 

“Whenever you like,” Alec said. “She’s a good age now: old enough an operation won’t be too dangerous, but still young enough she won’t remember.” 

“She’ll remember being in hospital; she’ll _remember_ being away from me,” said Christie. 

Alec looked at Christie’s strained face. “Of course she will. But a week or so nursing care won’t mean that much to her in the long run.”

“But she’s just a little girl; she’s never been away from home before,” protested Christie. “They’ll all be strangers to her there, and I won’t be allowed to visit.” 

Julia had never seen anyone wring their hands quite so tightly before and reached across to pat Christie reassuringly. “I’ll make sure you see her - every day, if it helps.”

“The time will go fast, and afterward she’ll forget what it was like having a harelip,” Alec pointed out.

“Except when she looks in the mirror.” The remark came from Julia. 

“Yes, there’ll be a scar,” Alec admitted. “I can’t promise she’ll look completely normal; but it will be better than now. It isn’t a bad deformity.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Christie bristling again at that word. “Not compared with what I see every day in the burns ward,” he added hastily. 

A long awkward pause was broken by Julia. “We should be going, now. We need to get to the shops before they close.”

“Yes, of course,” said Kit. He helped Colonna as she levered awkwardly out of the chair, then handed her her handbag while Julia picked up the knitting. “Did you bring a jacket?” In the little flurry of retrieving Colonna’s cardigan from the kitchen and locating a novel she had promised to lend Julia, Christie’s continued silence went unremarked. 

As Kit escorted his friends to the door, Colonna said, “I could just hit Alec sometimes. He is so...so....”

“Like a doctor?” Julia looked wry. 

“What did I do?” Alec asked plaintively. “I was asked for my opinion and I gave it; and it’s even a positive prognosis.” 

“It’s _how_ you said it.” Colonna said in exasperation, before turning to Kit reassuringly. “Christie knows you love Milly; she could never doubt that. She’s just been so ill with this pregnancy; she’s been wondering about the new baby. In the middle of this, Dr Know-it-all here calls Milly ‘deformed’. ” She glared at Alec. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise.” Alec looked sheepish. “I’m not used to really _knowing_ my patients; I don’t normally think about their feelings.”

“The difference between a mere GP like me and a Consultant,” remarked Kit. 

“He’s not a Consultant _yet_ ,” rejoined Colonna, “although he’s not half as bad as those dreadful, snooty doctors I remember from years ago.” She relented and smiled at him. “There’s hope yet; he may turn out almost human at the end of his training. Just don’t forget again they are _friends_.” Colonna pulled a face at Alec before turning back toward Kit. “Tell Christie I had a lovely time and I’ll come over again on Thursday to see her.” 

Kit closed the door behind them. He was left in a quiet hallway. Drifting out to him was Christie’s voice as she sang to the little girl in the garden. 

_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,  
When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen._

Smiling, Kit returned to the sitting room and made a beeline to the fireplace, where the letter lay in wait. Important though Alec’s visit had been, throughout his attention had been split, one part wondering about this missive. The gentle expression on his face turned hard; the writing was unfamiliar but the return address was not. There was no point in putting this off. Kit crossed to one corner of the room where a small Chippendale writing desk stood. There, he picked up the brass letter opener, slit open the envelope, and took out the one sheet of rather grey looking paper he found inside. 

“It is with deepest sorrow that I write....” Janet was dead. Cold and buried – long buried he realised as he checked the date of the postmark. The letter had taken some time to arrive. Their marriage had ended long before she’d gone abroad; he’d not pretend to mourn her passing now. As he stood absorbing the feelings of intense relief, Christie’s singing reinforced his new lightness of spirit. 

_Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, And the lambs play;  
We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm's way._

Too true. He read the letter again before placing it carefully onto the blotting paper and fishing a small key from his pocket. He moved round to the front of the desk and used it to open one of the drawers, from which he retrieved a small, blue, velvet box. He had been waiting a long time to give this to Christie. She’d accepted the necessity of the wedding ring – recognised the safety for Milly in wearing that lie. But she’d never agreed to his engagement ring. Not while Janet is alive, she’d said (and proven surprisingly stubborn about it). He’d given in, sad, knowing how unlikely it was he’d ever see her with it on, but unwilling to return it to the shop. Now, finally, she would wear it. He pushed the ring box into his pocket.

A wide smile lit Kit’s normally serious face as he walked briskly to the garden.


	14. Specialists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec finds himself at a loose end in London and his commitment to Rollo is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on14/02/2011  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.

Alec found himself at a loose end. He hadn’t expected to find himself feeling lonely in London. He had, after all, come to town with friends. Kit and Christie’s wedding had been booked for late afternoon. They’d gone on from the registrar’s office to the Savoy for dinner. “My treat,” Kit had insisted, when Alec had offered to help with the bill at the end of the meal. They hadn’t planned to go on to the theatre afterwards. However, Christie had looked so wistful when she’d seen the marquee announcing Celia Grey was starring at the Duke of York’s, that Colonna had insisted they at least try to get tickets. Four had been found: two at the back of the stalls and two way up with the gods; but a fifth could not be had for love nor money. Seeing Christie’s crestfallen face had made Alec quite insistent they go without him. After all, the real purpose behind this trip to London was Christie, not him. He didn’t really want to go, he explained. Shakespeare wasn’t his cup of tea, he’d said, and had seen the two couples go happily into the theatre. There was symmetry to it, he realised, as he saw them go off together. The world was made for couples, not a single man, especially not one on his own. Around him were groups of young men and women, all laughing and enjoying themselves; but he appeared to be the only person without a companion. 

Alec set off up St Martin’s Lane, popping into the Salisbury for a pint, before deciding what next to do. The etched glass of the Victorian mirrors outlined his reflection as he ordered. He was lucky to find a corner seat tucked away in the small back room, the pub was so crowded; and he sat nursing his pint watching the crowd. 

It was full of merriment, a far cry from the quiet establishment he had been in a few weeks ago with Kit. The two men had stopped for a pint after work. It had been Kit’s suggestion; and while Alec had gone along with it, he had wondered why he had been invited. After all, while he liked Kit (and they clearly had some common professional interests), the friendship was stronger between Christie and Colonna (not surprisingly, touring together last year had cemented the two women’s respect for one another). Yet Kit had asked and Alec had agreed. Kit had chosen the Three Bells, a small local pub mid-way between his home and work, one Alec had never been in before, eschewing the one closest to the hospital. He had realised quickly that Kit, too, wasn’t known at this pub, but had understood why the place had been chosen as the man confided in him. He had never guessed Kit wasn’t married; somehow it came as less of a surprise to learn about Christie. (She was so frivolous and gay she’s always seemed to wear her marriage more lightly.) Who would have guessed that quiet, respectable Kit was leading a double-life, married to one woman while living with another? 

The request to be best man at the wedding had come almost as an anti-climax. Kit had appeared oddly anxious about his answer; of course he’d answered in the affirmative. “The actual ceremony must necessarily be quiet,” Kit had explained, “but I want it to be memorable. It is, after all, the only wedding Christie is likely to have. And you, Julia and Colonna have all become good friends. I’d ask Mic to come too; but I’m hoping he’ll take care of Milly while we’re away. Besides, this is just between us; and you know how she chatters so.” Alec grinned as he remembered Kit saying this. 

He’d not been around small children much before he’d met Jan and Milly. Oh, he’d certainly treated children as patients in hospital, but he hadn’t realised before meeting his friends’ children just how noisy they could be. All he knew was that the quiet wards in hospital, where nurses kept discipline amongst (he now realised) unhappy youngsters, were a far cry from these children at home. One time he had mentioned it to Julia, somewhat wonderingly. She’d been scathing in her scorn, and had made it clear she thought he should have realised it long since. After all, she pointed out, he had been a child once, and far from subdued. But he and his sisters played in the meadow, he had protested, even as he acknowledged that in the city, there was no meadow; and Milly and Jan were a little too young to be allowed out on their own anyway. 

As he had spent more time with the Andersons, Alec had discovered just how indiscreet very young children could be. ‘Open’, Julia called it. He thought ‘embarrassing’ might be a better word. “He’s kissing him the way Mummy kisses you,” was one choice comment he remembered from last Christmas. Inured to the florid embraces one might see at a queer party, Alec had nonetheless found himself colouring fiercely at Milly’s remark when she’d caught Rollo and him under the mistletoe. Undoubtedly it had been a wise decision Milly should not attend her parents’ wedding. 

Nursing his pint as he mused, Alec found himself roped into a discussion with some army lieutenants next to him about a football match that had been held a few days before. However, when invited to join them for the rest of the night he politely declined, pretending he was waiting for a friend. They declared they were out to ‘pull a few birds’, and suggested he and his girl join them. He threw in a few off-colour jokes, but knew it would be beyond his camouflage capabilities to keep up the pretence all night (not to mention having to dream up some explanation when his fictitious girlfriend failed to materialise). Another, even rowdier, group of men filled the seats beside his, when this all too friendly group moved on in search of women and song (having fulfilled the ‘wine’ part of the equation). Alec finished his cigarette quickly, downing the last few swallows of his bitter, and left the pub. 

He cut across to Leicester Square Station, pushing his way through the crowds – once again mostly couples – queuing outside the Hippodrome, before continuing on his way to Piccadilly Circus. It was a far cry from London of the Blitz. But there hadn’t been any major bombing raids for a while now, and people needed the release from tension the frantic party atmosphere of the West End provided. Briefly he paused outside the Regent Palace Hotel where they had booked rooms. But the thought of spending several hours in what was, after all, fairly basic accommodation, did not really appeal. Besides, he had nothing to read. If nothing else, he should try to find a newsagent open and buy a paper. The hotel could probably help with this; even if the news agent on the ground floor of the building were closed the concierge would be sure to know where one could be found open. He found himself strangely reluctant to ask, though. 

His restlessness took him sauntering up through the back streets toward Soho. ‘Gorgeous Girls!’ announced a billboard outside a somewhat seedy looking club. On impulse he ducked down a side street and into a doorway about halfway along the alley. Notably it was distinctly less seedy-looking from the outside than that more reputable establishment on the main street. Inside, it was another story. He supposed most would consider this place much more unsavoury. He had only been there once before, a couple of years ago with Sandy; yet he found himself relaxing within minutes. There was, in fact, a sense of coming home. He’d met Ralph in a place like this, years ago; but almost as soon as they’d hooked up they’d avoided clubs, satisfied with one another’s company. 

Sandy he’d met through medical school, of course. But Sandy had always enjoyed the odd party, and had relished the occasional night out on the town when celebrating. He’d said he liked nothing so much as watching the shifting alliances – that elaborate dance that people went through as they chose their prospective partners, whether long or short-term. Sandy had also not been above playing a few games, delighting in watching who paired with whom as a result of his ploys. Only his total lack of malice, and oddly innocent delight in seeing friends pair off, had reconciled Alec to those games, some of which had had unhappy consequences. However, remembering how Sandy had engineered Laurie and Ralph meeting again at his birthday party a few years before, Alec had to admit that at least one such set up had resulted in a happy outcome, even though he’d always suspected it owed more to Sandy’s jealousy of Ralph than anything else. Now, sipping another pint in a quiet corner, he watched the denizens of this bar with the awareness Sandy had taught him. 

He recognised one almost immediately. He had never liked Claude; his transfer to the London scene appeared merely to have expanded his opportunities; but he rather thought that even in this cosmopolitan city, and the forgiving atmosphere of this club, the man ought to be a little circumspect. That make-up had been slathered on; and as for the taste expressed in that costume, not to mention the barely concealed movements of his hand. Despite his preoccupation with the man next to him, Claude looked straight back as Alec watched. Claude knew himself recognised, but showed no recognition in return; clearly the man had left all memories of Bridstow long behind (though perhaps he had been too drunk at the time to retain any). Sandy would have felt sorry for his fall; Alec merely felt disgust, knowing it to have been inevitable. He’d best take it elsewhere, though. Doing _that_ at the bar was asking for trouble if a plainclothesman checked in, something not unheard of even if there was a war on. 

Seated at the opposite end of the bar was an oddly mismatched couple. The man could have posed for a recruiting poster: tall and well built, with a shock of dark chestnut hair, and that kind of straight posture learned on a parade ground, which never really changes no matter what the venue. Guards, Alec rather thought, some regular regiment anyway. He was not so familiar with uniforms to be completely sure which of the services the man belonged to; but he was definitely with the regular forces, not a volunteer for the duration. The shorter, slightly younger man next to him was clearly non-military: not particularly effeminate, certainly not aping the opposite sex, but somehow softer, gentler, than many of the men around him, despite the lack of betraying queer gestures. In a different way from his partner, he too appeared out of place. As Alec watched, Claude twisted quickly on his barstool, in response to a warning tap on the shoulder from the barman, and lost his balance. He fell into the pair beside him, setting off a chain reaction of bumps, falls, and near misses amongst drunken patrons, the end of which jostled the military man, and led to the young one’s drink spilling down his front. Alec waited for the eruption; but to his surprise the taller man simply threw the others a look of contempt so cold than even here, across the room, he wondered they were not frozen by it, before swiftly moving his friend away from the tangle beside them. The couple made their way across to sit near Alec. 

He became an unwilling eavesdropper. The younger man was more invested in the relationship than the older one; the older had decided to end it. Why, was quite obvious: the officer had been posted elsewhere. But as Alec listened his sympathies developed for both. The war, he thought, threw together the most unlikely of companions. Probably they’d never have met in peacetime. Where would that young man have worked: an accounting firm? In a school? For a law firm? Nowhere his path could have crossed with the military officer. The hurly burly of war, which mixed up social groups and classes the way nothing else did, had brought these two together; now it separated them. He sensed chestnut hair was not as calm and collected as he outwardly appeared. That stiff upper lip a public school education imbued was nonetheless unable to conceal all signs of tension and distress, particularly to someone whose study of humanity – queer humanity at least – had been influenced by Sandy. 

The younger man reminded him of Sandy. He did not display the hysteria Sandy would have shown in similar circumstances, a fact for which Alec was profoundly grateful, situated as he was at the next table. But his eyes blinked too rapidly and their lids took on a pinkish hue. The pale skin of his cheeks flushed, and he repeatedly stroked back a lock of his pale hair with quick nervous gestures. In the end he left, making a beeline for the door, ignoring invitations from other customers. Chestnut hair remained, downing one drink before temporarily returning to the bar to get three more, down them one after another, his intention to get drunk as clear as if he shouted it out loud. Idly Alec wondered what the other patrons made of this corner. Despite the crowding in the rest of the club no one approached the two tables, each with its sole occupant, silently drinking and staring at the rest. They constituted twin islands, still and silent and glum in a sea of frenetic socialising. 

Alec had one more drink, watching people’s antics in the increasingly crowded club. He remembered a conversation he had had once with Laurie. ‘Specialists’ he had named most queers. Laurie had a distaste for most of his own kind and in his mouth the term was not complimentary, something Alec found wryly amusing given his own professional life had involved constant striving to become a specialist. However, now, watching the scene after being away from its worst excesses for the past three years, Alec found he understood Laurie’s fastidiousness better. Just how the man reconciled himself with Ralph’s past, though.... Ralph was no angel. Still, it must have come as no real surprise; he’d been at school during the Hazell episode, after all. And Ralph had been with Bunny when Laurie met up with him just after Dunkirk. Alec had always congratulated himself that even at his lowest ebb after Sandy’s death he had never stooped as low as that. 

He finished his drink and took his dirty mug to the bar preparing to leave. He passed chestnut hair on his way to the toilet. No doubt it was a loathsome hole, breeding ground for God only knew what germs, not to mention Claude, who had disappeared into it a half hour ago; Alec decided to wait until he got back to his hotel. Emerging from the club, he paused briefly on its threshold to breathe deeply of the fresh air, so different from smoky atmosphere inside, before heading back. 

He had had one too many, he realised as he walked, and needed to concentrate lest he stumble over uneven pavement. He hadn’t thought he was having too much; but it had been some time since he had had more than one or two drinks in an evening, so he supposed his tolerance for alcohol had gone. It was a fortuitous stumble which saved him from going down at the first blow as he was jumped. The blow landed, but with far less force than planned; and his assailant lurched past, unable to recover his balance when his victim wasn’t in quite the right place after all. Alec rolled and came up with fists clenched and arms swinging. Three against one wasn’t fair odds and he didn’t hold out much hope he’d get away without a drubbing; but he’d be damned if he’d give in to bullies without a fight. A shout behind him heralded the arrival of assistance. The largest of the two attackers was pulled away from him and despatched efficiently by his saviour, before he engaged with another. 

“Thanks,” Alec gasped once he had seen off the third opponent, nothing like as efficiently (but nonetheless within a reasonable time). He was slightly winded, but got out, “I’d have been in deep trouble if you hadn’t come along.” 

“I wasn’t far behind; I could see them following but didn’t catch up in time to stop them completely. Anyway, you weren’t doing so badly on your own.”

It was the chestnut-haired man from the club. There was nothing like being a professional soldier to teach one confidence in hand-to-hand combat, Alec thought. Coming to the rescue of a man facing three assailants wasn’t something everyone would do. “Guards?” he asked. 

“”Not likely,” came the reply, “Royal Engineers. _You’re_ not military.” As he spoke he took a handkerchief from one trouser pocket and began wrapping it awkwardly round his right hand. 

“Just as well for you I’m not,” Alec responded, “or you’d have that to report when you got in. Here, let me look, I’m a doctor.” He unwound the makeshift bandage, and turned the palm over to inspect the wound. Even in the dim light of this back alley he could see it was a nasty gash. “I didn’t realise one of them had a knife. Come over here where the light is better so I can get a better look.” He led his rescuer over to a corner less overlooked by the tall buildings surrounding them, where the moon’s pale light alleviated the worst of the shadows. What he wouldn’t give for a nice bright streetlamp now. 

“Those thugs? Wouldn’t had have the courage to jump you without even, even with those unfair odds.” The other man hissed as Alec’s gentle probing stretched tender flesh. 

“They came pretty close to severing a ligament, though. And I’ll bet that knife wasn’t clean. You need sutures.” 

“Have to be reported then.” The other man’s tone was even and matter-of-fact; but as Alex glanced up he could see the strain in his eyes, and a nervous tic at one corner of his mouth. 

“Awkward questions?” he asked. 

“Wasn’t supposed to be off base tonight. Not that I’m AWOL exactly,” he explained. “I just didn’t return quite as quickly as expected after finishing my last job. So when I turn up with this,” he gestured with his hand, “there’ll be questions asked. Can’t be helped, though.”

“I could stitch it for you,” offered Alec, “I have a suture kit in my room; it’s not far.”

The man’s face brightened. “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“Least I can do, after you saved me from an awful drubbing.” 

“Lead the way. My name is David, by the way.” 

“Alec.” 

By unspoken mutual consent they exchanged first names only, and no other personal information as they made their way toward Piccadilly Circus. It was that much later now; as they crossed Shaftesbury Avenue they ran into crowds walking briskly homeward – or gathered at bus stops waiting for transport. The theatres had clearly let out, temporarily flooding the streets with happy groups of people dressed in their finest. Alec cut down a side street to avoid the jostling bustle of people. It was a circuitous route, but clearer as they avoided the main streets, and still had sufficient passers-by for safety. It wouldn’t do to be jumped again, though now they had left Soho behind, there was no real danger of that. 

As the doorman held the entrance to the hotel open, Alec paused briefly. “My friend here slipped and injured himself on a bit of broken glass,” Alec explained. “I offered to bandage it for him.” He flashed his hospital identification, and slipped the doorman a few coins. Without blinking an eyelash, the man tipped his hat, and waved the two through. Alec wondered just how necessary it had been to show his badge after all, but didn’t question the good fortune of a doorman who displayed so little curiosity. They shared their lift with a giggling bleached blonde, clearly the worse for drink, who clung to her escort, a tall thin dark-haired man in Air Force uniform. Perhaps she too was a chance-met companion. The lift dropped them off first, then rose swiftly to the sixth floor. 

Neither man said anything as Alec opened the door to his room. Alec pushed the one chair close to the sink. As David sank into it, he set the cold tap running and pushed the injured hand under the running water. Then he rummaged in his suitcase for the suture kit, opened it, and laid its contents out on the bed. 

“Here - for the pain,” Alec directed, as he handed David a glass tumbler and two white tablets. 

“I don’t think I should after all I’ve had to drink.” David grimaced as he spoke. 

“Don’t be an fool,” Alec chided. “You didn’t have that much; and they’re not that strong.” 

“You were watching?” 

“And listening,” Alec admitted, “hard not to, when you’re at the next table. Still, your funeral if you don’t take it.” 

He nodded satisfaction as David tipped the glass back and swallowed the pills. Alec began his work by blotting the gash with cotton wool, before he placed two stitches, only one of which was visible once he’d closed the wound. A generous dusting of basilicum powder and gauze dressing and the job was done. His patient was white round the lips from the strain by the time he’d finished. 

“I’d best be off.” But his legs were unsteady as he got to his feet; and his shoulders trembled. 

“Not so fast,” Alec warned. “You’ve just had a nasty shock to the system.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have taken those tablets, after all.” 

“Best stay here the night; unless you’ll get into bother at the base?” 

“No...” David sank onto the bed at Alec’s insistence. “They probably won’t even notice if I don’t come back at all tonight. As long as I’m there at mess in the morning, they’ll just assume I went straight to my room when I got back at night.” 

“Then that’s decided.” Alec briskly helped David kick off his shoes, and ease off his jacket and trousers, before he pushed the chair back to its usual position at the end of the bed. After a brief foray down the corridor to the lavatory, he opened the window a crack for air, stripped off his own outer garments, and lay down beside him, and switched off the light. 

A slight breeze made a gap in the curtains through which moonlight glimmered. It fell on the chestnut head beside him, touching it to bronze. Alec had only met this man this evening, quite by chance. He thought back to other meetings, in other bars, or at parties over the years. It was not the first time he’d brought a stranger to his room for the night. It was, however, the first time he’d brought one into his room simply to sleep. How Sandy would have laughed to see him now.


	15. Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec receives important three letters from close family and friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 31/12/2011  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Acknowledgements:** Thank you to Greer Watson for editing.  
>  **Notes:** (a) The Ancient Greek goddess Athene sprang forth from Zeus’ forehead, fully grown and armed by her mother Metis, having been hidden there as a baby to prevent Zeus killing her; (b) The text of “Two Rivers” is listed in Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch (1919) The Oxford Book of English Verse, Oxford: Clarendon; these lyrics are from a traditional Scottish ballad that was recorded by Rory and Alex McEwen in the 1950s; (c) Bake boxes were an old-fashioned sort of slow cooker recommended by the Ministry of Food as a way of saving scarce fuel. One heated a casserole through thoroughly on the top of the cooker, then took it off the heat and placed it in a well insulated box for a couple of hours so the contents cooked in the residual heat; (d) the North Africa campaign concluded on 13/05/1943 with the mass surrender of Axis forces in Tunisia; (e) the Cerne Abbas Giant in Dorset is a huge figure of a man with an erect phallus carved into a limestone hill. It was disguised in World War II to prevent German airmen using it as a navigation landmark. Its origins are not known; but some local folklore claims making love on it could cure infertility; (f) the lines quoted by Rollo are from “Lovers’ Infiniteness” by John Donne.

Alec could hear Colonna singing in the bathroom as he passed on his way downstairs. There were four letters waiting on the hallway mat: three for him, and one he put on the credenza for Colonna. He should have just enough time to read them before Leo and Helen arrived. Alec made a pot of tea and poured a mug for himself. Outside beckoned; it was such a lovely day – blue sky and sunshine, so rare in England, even in summer. He took his mug down to the bottom of the garden and settled himself comfortably under the tree. 

First he opened Sarah’s letter. It was full of her usual _joie de vivre_ , as she described, somewhat irreverently, life in a Quonset hut with five other WAAFs. He chuckled as she quipped about two minor run-ins with base security, one when she overstayed a weekend pass, and later when she helped two colleagues organise a clandestine rendezvous with some soldiers on leave - his sister the mischief-maker. The military machine would never be quite the same again. He was sure it was only her skill at spotting gun installations in aerial reconnaissance photographs kept the powers-that-be from cashiering her; that and being married to the ace pilot who brought them back.

> I told Jonathan the news last weekend, so now it’s your turn to know we are finally expecting a baby. I haven’t told the military yet, though they’ll know soon enough (so much for my time in uniform). However, I did think family should know first. I’m not showing yet; but am far enough along we don’t have to worry about anything going wrong, so it’s time to tell people.

He seemed to be surrounded by people having babies these days. Alec wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Though he supposed he'd always known it was inevitable someday his sister would write announcing she was pregnant, babies weren't something he’d ever really envisaged playing a significant part of his life. And he had had no luck, as yet, finding another place to live. Well, that, he had to acknowledge to himself, was not entirely true. He could have found somewhere, just nothing as convenient as this – notwithstanding the paraphernalia associated with babies now crammed into every crevice. Alec put his other letters to one side and wandered back into the house to get something to drink, conscious he was procrastinating. He had divided feelings about opening his next letter. Colonna was pottering in the kitchen, putting away dishes from the night before.

“Did you get any post?” she asked. 

He nodded – then looked more closely at her. Something was wrong. Colonna’s normally bright confident aura appeared a little frayed.

“Are you feeling all right today?” Alec scanned her bulging figure with a professional eye. She was garbed in a flowing kaftan today, which made it more difficult to notice anything that might be wrong, but superficially he couldn’t see anything amiss. Still, she was approaching her due date. Perhaps contractions were starting.

“Back ache?” he asked.

Colonna grimaced but shook her head. “There’s always back ache. But, no, you don’t need to worry. Baby isn’t coming today.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” 

“There’s nothing wrong.” She’d moved to the sit at the table, and now was scraping some carrots. 

“What are you making?” Alec asked. There was something wrong; he would bet on it. 

“Casserole for later. Here –” She pushed carrots and scraper toward him, before getting up to pull some potatoes from a burlap sack under the sink, washing them quickly under the tap, and bringing them to the table to cut up. They sat in silence for a few minutes, fingers nimbly preparing vegetables. 

“Any meat for this?” Alec asked. 

“I managed to get a ham hock at the butchers.”

“Something’s wrong,” he ventured a few minutes later. “It’s not like you to be so industrious this early in the day.”

She laughed at that. “My reputation precedeth me!” 

They sat in companionable silence, busy fingers chopping, for a few more minutes, before Colonna ventured, “I had a letter from my family.”

Alec swallowed his surprise; he hadn’t realised Colonna had a family. (Though of course she must have a family, he realised. Even Athene, sprung forth fully grown, had had a family.) 

“Julia wanted me to try to mend some fences,” Colonna continued. 

That sounded like his cousin, Alec thought, remembering her quiet insistence last year about his sister’s wedding. Always, Julia wanted to smooth over difficulties and maintain connections; it was a quality which helped her get along with even the most difficult of consultants at the hospital. 

Alec said nothing; he’d learned over the months she’d lived here. Colonna masked her feelings through gaiety and light-hearted quips; but she felt things strongly, all the more so for her inability to speak about them openly. As he scraped carrots, Alec found himself humming a ballad Sandy had been fond of:

_Says Tweed to Till_  
'What gars ye rin sae still?'  
Says Till to Tweed  
'Though ye rin with speed, and I rin slaw,  
For ae man that ye droon, I droon twa.' 

That was Julia. And for all Colonna’s apparent frivolity, she too had depth. But he needed to wait. Carrots gave way to celery which he chopped into small pieces, then mushrooms, while Colonna cried over the onions. 

“No parsnips?” he asked. 

“Silly man, it isn’t the season for them.” 

Alec pulled a face. “I prefer parsnips to carrots.”

“There will be plenty in the Autumn. We planted a full row,” responded Colonna. 

The vegetables were piled on top of the small amount of meat, a bay leaf and some water were added, before Alec carried the cast iron pot to the cooker where it went on the back burner. 

“So... your letter?” Alec prompted. 

“From my mother,” Colonna replied, “chock full of fulminations about my unmarried status.” She struck a pose. “I am a scandal and disgrace, it seems, and must never darken their door again.” Now it was her turn to pull a face. “Unlike my younger sister Rose, who has made a very proper marriage to a solicitor.” 

Alec grimaced in sympathy. It was an all too familiar story amongst his circle of friends. “Don’t forget, you’re our family now.” He dropped a gentle kiss on her golden head, pulled a bottle of ginger beer from the pantry, opened it, and made his way outside, settling once again beneath the plum tree at the bottom of the garden. Never in a lifetime would Ralph say that, he thought, as he ripped the end from the second envelope, and began to read the single sheet with its distinctive black script.

> Dear Alec,
> 
> Human beings’ capacity for self-defeating behaviour never ceases to astonish me. We have recently had a shipment of wedding dresses. Apparently the Americans heard about the difficulties English women are having finding the perfect wedding outfit.  
> 

Alec could hear the irony in Ralph’s voice as he read. He took a large gulp of his drink and smiled before bending his head back to read.

> They have sent us a lovely selection of second-hand white gowns for distribution to needy brides. Powdered milk and egg, even spam, might be more useful, but clearly taffeta and tulle are the greater priority. 

Alec was impressed Ralph knew the names of the fabrics; though he had always taken a greater interest in women’s fripperies than any other man he knew. Alec thought it was a remnant of those years when Ralph had tried to pass; from his accounts he had been generous with gifts to his girlfriends of that time, even while he had been ever stingy with the truth.

> As to the matter you wrote about, I remember my own struggles when I went back to sea. It appears to be a perennial difference between land and sea types. Are land people more constant by nature? Or is it simply that custom and practice – not to mention the difficulties in obtaining divorce – make their relationships steadier than our kind. Within our fellowship, there are seamen somewhat notorious for having a different woman in every port of call. Not all, of course; but they are notable and seemingly more frequent than amongst land people. I have sometimes wondered if it is a lifestyle some are forced into given the system we operate within.
> 
> Laurie and I had a rare leave together last week and went off boating at Windermere. The waters there were very peaceful and it was a welcome respite for us both; he is, of course, still learning all the nuances of the water, but we sailed our little craft well together, in true partnership. I have always wished you could find a reliable first mate for your voyages, though I know from experience seamanship of that calibre is not easily come by.
> 
> I remember going to Falmouth for a holiday when I was fifteen and learning how to sail. My teacher explained how to read the coastal waters. Lizard Point, that graveyard of ships for centuries, has some peculiarly complicated currents it takes considerable skill to navigate. How men in centuries past ever managed to come to shore safely, dependent as they were on wind power, and at the mercy of inconstant sea breezes, I have never been quite sure. Yet they did. The trick, I suspect, is to catch the prevailing wind in one’s sails, and steer with that. One may veer off course otherwise, coming to grief. You may remember that when you sailed with Sandy, the two of you wrecked your little dinghy on more than one occasion. It is wise to learn from past mistakes. Of course Rollo’s boat is a much more stable craft than Sandy’s ever was. 
> 
> I am sorry not to write more often. Our lives are all too busy these days as the war continues to absorb our attentions. However, old friendships are important too, and the reason we are fighting, so must never be forgot. The friends we choose are the brothers we never had in childhood; and that brotherhood is cherished always, regardless of the path chosen. 
> 
> Your friend always, 
> 
> Ralph

No doubt Ralph had chosen his words carefully in case his letter was intercepted or read by a censor. Yet Ralph was, as always, direct and his message crystal clear. He never fudged matters, or left one in any doubt of his views. Alec was conscious that a hard knot in his shoulders had loosened as he’d read.

“Alec, can you come help me please?” Colonna voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see her standing in the back doorway, hand at the crook of her back. “I can’t bend properly to put the casserole in the bake box.”

“You shouldn’t even try to lift something so heavy when you’re so close to your time,” he chided, as he reached the back door. Gently he pushed her toward a kitchen chair. “Leave it to me.”

Colonna had managed to pull the large square wooden box from the pantry, standing it next to the back door. A combination of crumpled newspaper and old tea towels lined its base. Alec pulled on oven mitts to protect his hands, before lifting the heavy two-handled casserole from the hob, and placing it into the bake box. 

“Here.” Colonna handed him an armful of tea towels, clean, but some quite elderly with holes and stains, which he packed round the sides and top of the casserole. 

“Where’s the top got to?” Alec asked. 

“Over there.” Colonna pointed at a thick square board resting against the base of one wall. “The proper top cracked last month, so I’ve been using that.” 

The makeshift top was slightly warped; Alec used two bricks on top to weigh it down so it fit securely on the bake box. “Surely you didn’t make this?” he asked in surprise. She might be good at crochet and knitting; but carpentry skills were beyond Colonna. 

“Don’t be daft; I asked Leo. Speaking of which, my guess is that is Leo and Helen now,” she said at the sound of loud knocking. “I’ll get the door; you put the kettle on.”

As he turned the tap on Alec could hear Colonna greeting her guests. Just Leo came into the kitchen, though. 

“Colonna’s due her midwifery check-up,” she explained. “She and Helen have gone upstairs.”

“Tea or a cold drink?” asked Alec. 

“Just some water, I think. We’ll need the liquid if we’re going to weed in this heat.” 

Abruptly he handed her the glass, he’d been about to fill, and turned back to the garden. 

Leo laughed after Alec, “forgot about that, did you!”

There was a lean-to shed built up against the back of the house, overcrowded (as he supposed all sheds were) with various boxes, tools, and odds and ends, either unfit for the house, or for which there wasn’t room, but which no one could bring themselves to throw out (“just in case”). The hoe and spade, fork and trowel were relatively near the front, and he managed to retrieve them, only bringing one extra item – a bucket – down on top of him when he didn’t want it. 

“I’ll take that one,” said Leo, grabbing the hoe. “Don’t forget a chair; Colonna will want to sit out with us.” 

Large as they were, the folding chairs for the garden were stored right at the back and necessitated unpacking most of the shed contents before they could be freed from their corner, and put out for Colonna to choose from when she got downstairs. He grabbed the small garden fork and started work on the next row of vegetables. Shortly after, he was joined, a row over, by Helen, industriously wielding a trowel. A quick glance showed him Colonna, crochet in hand, seated by a round wooden table, with a jug of water and glasses beside her. All four worked in companionable silence for quite some time, broken occasionally as one person briefly interrupted weeding to drink some water. 

In due course, Colonna put more chairs round the table, and brought out some plates, cutlery, a loaf and the bread board. 

“I’ll need help with the casserole,” she called. 

It was the signal to break off. Alec looked round and realised his row was the last with any weeds (and he was nearing its end). With renewed energy he tackled a particularly stubborn dandelion (he was sure it was the same one he’d weeded last month), before he too rose to go wash his hands. 

The casserole had cooked to perfection (well, as much perfection as a meal composed mostly of vegetables could ever be, Alec supposed; he rather liked his meat). Witty conversation and comfortable companionship made up for any gaps in cuisine. Leo chatted about her latest book; Helen had brought her sketchpad and amused them with caricatures. Colonna, brought out of herself by the company, was bright and bubbly, and showed off the little cardigan she had finished for her baby. Alec was conscious of that last letter down at the bottom of the garden, waiting patiently for his attention, but felt no impetus to open it. The moment was all. It was good to be amongst friends who accepted one on one’s own terms.

The sun was well to the west before Alec settled back down beneath the tree. Leo and Helen had left for home; Colonna had gone upstairs to nap. This third letter was addressed – discreetly – to A. Deacon. He sat contemplating the envelope for a few minutes, anticipating its contents, before finally he ripped it open.

> Dear Alexia, 
> 
> I can count myself fortunate that, throughout, I have remained part of the rear echelons, and seem to spend the majority of my time ticking off lists as we organise supplies. It is a far cry from the patriotic images one sees on recruiting posters, yet no less important for all it is less heroic. You can rest assured that I never even seen the frontline. As much as any war service could be described as ‘safe’, mine seems to be – at least for now. Occasionally I take a break from organising boxes and see the results of the war going in the other direction. I think of you then, receiving those wounded soldiers into your hospital back home. I know they could not be in better hands. Fortunately, there are fewer of them now.
> 
> Think of me, sitting in a cafe by the sea, drinking coffee and eating lamb roasted on a spit. The weather is balmy and the locals treat us well. My skills at mime are sometimes tested to their limits, though, when I find myself lost in the maze of this town, and need directions to get back to where I am temporarily bivouacked. I am currently on a three day furlough which is most welcome after all the activity of the last few months. I dined with my friend from Pathé last week, just before he shipped back home. I am sure you have heard by now of our success.

Alec had indeed, as had all of England, heard the news two weeks before of the resounding victory in North Africa. The cinemas had been full of pictures of the mass surrender of the German army. He wondered if the success of the recent campaign would allow Rollo to return now; or would he be posted to some new theatre of war, perhaps one even farther away?

> I know you want to find another place to live once Colonna’s baby arrives, one where we can be alone together when I return home. Julia and Colonna are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice when you have had a hard day and need that little extra. But even so they are good company, and will make sure you don’t overwork too much at that hospital while I am gone. I worry that when you move, there will be no one to look out for you. 
> 
> I dreamt of you last night, and woke missing you, if possible, even more than before. Do you remember the day we spent at Cerne Abbas? Such a lovely Autumn day rediscovering our disguised giant. His more fertile properties may have been wasted on us, but we did our best to honour him nonetheless. I look forward to the day we can be together again. I have never rested so comfortably – or felt so loved and cherished– with anyone else. 
> 
> _And since my love doth every day admit  
>  New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store._
> 
> I hate being away from you. 
> 
> Rollo

A butterfly lit on Alec’s shoulder unheeded as he sat, eyes closed against the morning sun, hands quiet in his lap. The flimsy paper of Rollo’s letter rested on his knee. Would Rollo understand? Could he? He had not _done_ anything. But the constancy, the sheer reliability of Rollo’s affection, was humbling. He was a man who, having given his trust, never doubted. Worried, and cared, and sent his love wafting homeward through the ether – or by letter – but never really doubted.

There had been no intent, no purpose that night in London. He and David had, quite simply, shared a bed; two warm bodies spooned together, enjoying the sensation, and finding comfort in it: no more, no less. It had been, for him at least, a respite from being single in a world of couples. He had imagined Rollo beside him in bed, yet known it was another man – a different shape, a different smell. He would never see David again; pure chance had thrown them together for one night, and their lives diverged thereafter. 

No matter that Rollo was posted away; he too would have opportunities, even in a theatre of war, since, as his letter clearly showed, he had stayed well behind the front line. His sister’s letter showed how much could be hidden from the authorities if there was need for it. But Rollo wasn’t writing confessing some misdemeanour. Alec was conscious of being less than honest in his last letter. Was this his fatal flaw? All men had one, the Ancient Greeks had said. Was inconstancy his? That he had been tempted – would _always_ be tempted – when clearly Rollo was not. That he would be cagey and economical with the truth when it suited him? 

Alec took a long drink. He’d spotted a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale last week. Rollo’s favourite, he’d had to buy it; and reading this letter had seemed a good time to open it. He savoured its flavour as he remembered. They’d had a couple of bottles with them that day at the giant. It was too long ago...too long. People spoke of the privations of war: of having no money and rationing, mending and making do. But he’d had no money as a student before the war, and was used to making do. It was the loss of friends that bothered more, and the worry about their safety. The women had no such worries; and Laurie need not worry about Ralph, beached as he was. What strange circumstance led him to this situation, testing his endurance and commitment this way? How Sandy would have laughed.


End file.
